Change in the Wind: The One-Shots
by veiland
Summary: A collection of one shot stories inspired by YOU! Keep 'em coming! If you like what you read, contribute to my one-shot list. You'll find the link on my profile. The characters can be any out of Change in the Wind and I don't have a lot of rules. Use your imagination!
1. The Grass is Green HERE

**A/N: One-Shot Prompt from molly9429. :) I hope I did it justice. Thanks!**

* * *

**The Grass is Green HERE**

**Mary Lou's POV**

"Junior! Kenny! Drew!" I'm trying to remember where I put the keys and the directions to Steph's rental. I'm thrilled she said we could have it for a week and, when I asked her how much, she said it was free. Lenny and I were stunned and grateful. Seriously. Steph doesn't need to get us an anniversary present this year. This is enough.

"Boys! We're leaving in three minutes. If you aren't in the car, you're staying with grandma," Lenny yells. I finally find the directions, check the thermostat and the burners on the stove, and continue to search for the keys. The boys run past me at full speed and head to the car. They get into a fight about 'shotgun'. Lenny orders them to the backseat. I ride shotgun. Always.

"Lou?"

"I can't find the keys."

"I have the keys, Lou."

"Well thanks for telling me," I moan. "I've been searching for the past 15 minutes."

"I told you I had them when you asked me. Remember?"

No, of course I don't. Otherwise I wouldn't have been searching. I do my final checks, forward the house phone to my cell phone, and shut and lock the door.

90 minutes to the shore. 99 bottles of beer to go.

* * *

This was the best part of my childhood. I am the fourth of five kids and we spent every summer with the Plums at the Jersey Shore. My sister Mary Katherine was Valerie's best friend and it was the only time when Val and Mary Kate acknowledged we existed. We spent hours at Jenkinson's and on the beach. We made s'mores, ate cotton candy, and made sandcastles before graduating to boy watching.

I wore my first bikini there, with something to fill the top, and was jealous of Steph because she got her period first. That was the only bummer. Mrs. Plum and my mom were traditional Catholics. No swimming on your period. We looked at the massive pads and agreed. It looked like a diaper, although you couldn't tell once you were wearing it but what would happen if you got into the water? Would it balloon up? Would it look like you had a diaper in your panties? Could it float away? Mary Kate and Val just sniggered at us. They had graduated to tampons and could do what they wanted.

Once Lenny and I married, the shore is where we went for wedding anniversaries. I remember the first time I left Junior home with my mother. I was still nursing and Junior was six months old. I was terrified of leaving him alone (albeit with my mother and two sisters) but Lenny insisted.

"We haven't been alone in months, Lou," he said, nuzzling my neck. I should have ignored him. I returned from the shore pregnant again. After it happened the third time, Lenny and I swore off the shore for a few years.

I refused to be my mother. Besides, Lenny was only producing boys. I was already outnumbered in my own home.

"Your mother wants us to come to her house for Thanksgiving this year," Lenny murmurs. We're both ignoring the fight in the back. "My mother wants us to come to her house for Thanksgiving."

"We were at your mother's last year. My mom this year."

"Aw Mom," Junior whines. "Grandma Molnar makes the driest turkey! And I hate stuffed cabbages."

I turn around in the seat and glare at Junior. All three boys stop clowning around and drop their eyes.

I look over at Lenny and he's hiding a smile. "Don't say a word," I hiss.

Junior's right. My mom can't cook. I used to love going to the Plums' for dinner as a kid. Mrs. Plum was the best cook. Everything was perfect. She taught me to cook, although she demanded you follow instructions perfectly. I stuck it out and now I don't have to rely on takeout or box macaroni and cheese like my mother did. My mom could sew. She tried to teach Steph but Steph was not interested. I wasn't either. I take the boys' clothes to my mother's when they need hemming or to be let out.

I start singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall and we make it through twice before reaching Steph's rental. Lenny and I stop and gape.

"Good god. How much is she paying?" Lenny asks. The boys are already out of the minivan and running for the door.

"No idea," I reply. The place is magnificent and I'm jealous. Lenny and I have discussed buying a timeshare at the shore but every timeshare around has crap Jersey Shore dates. There's no point, unless we want to end up here in mid-November.

The boys are banging on the door and twisting the door handle. I can see Lenny is getting furious.

"Boys!" Lenny yells. I can see this is going to be the start of a very long week unless I put some rules into place now.

"Freeze!" The boys freeze in place, our rule that lets them know that the next step is serious punishment. "Unfreeze." They stand quietly. "Before I open that door, I want you to understand this: Aunt Steph made this place available to us for the week. The **first** thing you'll do once we get inside is sit down and write her a thank you note. All three of you. Separate notes and you'll say more than just, 'Thanks, Aunt Steph. Love' your name. Got it?"

The boys groan but nod.

"Second. There are two bedrooms with twin beds. We'll move one bed into one of the rooms and you'll all share one room." I see long faces over the idea of not having separate rooms. "Steph is using this place for leadership retreats for the men in her company, so we have to leave it clean and ready for her to use when she comes back."

"Where is she?" Drew asks.

"None of your business," Lenny replies. "Wherever she is, it means we have this house for a week. Would you rather she come home and we have to leave so she can do her company stuff?"

"No, Daddy," he mutters.

"Exactly."

"Which is why you boys will keep it clean. Every day. No leaving your clothes everywhere, no soaking the bathroom, no making messes. Understood?" I glare at each one.

They nod. I head around to the back of the house and the shed and pull the key from under the flowerpot Steph described. I check under the other pots. Slick. She put decoy keys under the other flowerpots to slow someone down. I grin. My best friend is amazing.

I open the house and gape. God I wish Lenny and I could afford something like this. The house is amazing. It has to be worth a million. I can see the ocean from here. Lenny hauls the suitcases inside and we tour the house.

This is going to be an amazing week.

* * *

I call RangeMan Trenton and ask for Ram. Every time I talk to Ram, I think of Connie. She has the hots for him. Ram's harder to read.

"Mrs. Stankovic?"

"Mary Lou, please. Hi Ram! We're in the house."

"OK. Monitoring disabled. Let us know when you leave."

"Sure. Thank you." _Click_.

I count. Ten words. Connie may have a point.

I head to the kitchen to check out the fridge. I'm really not expecting much but I find a note.

_Stephanie,_

_I left a London Broil and plenty of roasted vegetables. Also, there's a partially roasted chicken in the freezer. If you cover it with tinfoil, you can put it in the stove at 350 for about 25 minutes. It will finish cooking and you just need to prepare a salad to go with it._

_Enjoy your weeks at the beach and remember to continue your exercise._

_Love, Mother._

Underneath is another note:

_ML,_

_All yours if you want it._

_Steph_

I smile and decide against it. Mrs. Plum clearly cares and left Steph enough food to make it a week without her.

The Burg isn't sure what to make of Mrs. Plum's dramatic turnaround in favor of the RangeMen. The rumors were running wild that the RangeMen threatened to never bring Steph back unless she was nice to Steph. Other rumors said Mrs. Plum was hoping that Steph would get interested in one of the men there. Didn't matter which one, just any one of them to get her married. The worst ones say the RangeMen have a contract on her and she's trying to be nice to her daughter to end the contract.

I immediately started a rumor that Mrs. Plum liked the RangeMen because they were training Steph to their standards while she worked for them. That one spread like wildfire, as I knew it would. It's the truth so of course it was the least believable at first. Now everyone is wondering what kind of bad-ass Steph will be when they're done. Will she be a cold-hearted killer? Or will she be a more accurate disaster?

I'm pushing warm-hearted killer. Hey, I don't know either, but Steph isn't cold. Pulling her gun will never be her first thought but if she pulls it, she'll be deadly. That I know.

I check on the boys. They're writing their thank-you notes and they're doing a good job. Junior actually writes a decently long letter to his godmother. I'm proud. Each folds his letter, puts his name on it, and hands it to me. Now they're free. They know the shore rules.

No shirts, no shoes, no vegetables.

* * *

We allow the boys to roam Point Pleasant on their own. Junior, at 14, is the same age Steph and I were when we were allowed to roam on our own. As long as he keeps an eye on his little brothers and doesn't allow them to get into any trouble, they can go out on their own. Point Pleasant is known for its family friendly atmosphere and there will be plenty of eyes on them. I'm not afraid to allow Junior some responsibility. Besides, he knows the rules. 'Stranger Danger' is more than just a silly phrase.

In the meantime, Lenny and I have a chance to get 'reacquainted'. I'm on birth control and Lenny's had the snip. We both agreed after Drew that we were done. I wanted a girl but it didn't happen. I'm not willing to keep having boys like the Crandles. Five boys before she finally got the girl. Not a chance. Lenny and I enjoy the alone time and, while Lenny goes in search of the boys, I take the minivan to the grocery store. We have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and the boys collapse in their beds, full and happy.

* * *

That's our week in Point Pleasant. The boys roam, swim, and play at the arcade and on the beach. Lenny and I make love all over the house, swim in the ocean and have family fun at the arcade. We eat semi-nutritious meals and enjoy our time together. Lenny and I look at our budget again and make a pact to make sure we can do this every summer.

Plumbers are paid decently well, especially if, like Lenny, you're part of a family business. When he proposed to me, in high school, I remember how shy and embarrassed he was.

"I won't make much, Lou, especially as an apprentice plumber. But I love you and I want to marry you. Will you marry me?"

I lost my virginity that night but I never regretted it. I also never did the math on Junior. My life has been good. My husband loves me as much as he did the night he asked me to be his wife and, although we've had rough years, we've never wavered in our love. We've fought, cried, walked away angry and gotten back together. Lenny's slept at his mother's because I was angry at him and I called him in the middle of the night begging him to come home.

We're committed.

Lenny offered to beat the shit out of Dickie when Steph caught him boinking Joyce. Steph thanked him and declined. She slept on our sofa for a few days, avoiding her mother and sister, and I tried to help. I couldn't imagine leaving Lenny but Steph was adamant.

"He broke his vows. He promised to love me and be faithful for the rest of his life. How could I ever trust him again?"

Good question. I didn't have an answer for that except that, if she loved him, she'd have to trust in her love for him and decide if she wanted to hold onto her marriage. That's when I realized Steph married Dickie for all the wrong reasons. She admitted she was initially interested in him because he had a hot car.

Not a killer smile or hot body or warm eyes. A car.

I never again tried to help her save her marriage. I give Steph as little relationship advice as possible. Steph isn't ready to make a commitment to anything that requires more than Rex does. It's not an indictment of my BFF. It's reality. Steph's not ready to put someone else before herself . . . well, not until Ranger.

I'm praying she and Ranger work out. He's perfect for her. I've watched Ranger be there for her, in every way small and large, for the past four years. Even now, without her saying anything, I know he must be here at the shore. I talked to her the night before her family left, and she confessed she couldn't wait for them to leave so she'd have some time to think about Ranger and their relationship and what she'd need in a relationship with him.

That's when I realized how serious Steph was about him. She was ready to make the changes necessary to be a 'we' instead of 'me'. So when she called saying we could have her house I was certain he must be nearby. She wanted that alone time too much for just anything to move her out for a week. I didn't need confirmation. I just needed to know we weren't putting her out.

Honestly, I'm hoping Joe is prepared to move on when he comes back from California. It's going to break his heart to know Steph's made her choice and it's not him. I admit, I was pulling for him at first. I thought it would be great for the two of them to get back together. Steph really liked him in high school and even though he was an ass (a hot ass, but an ass nonetheless), he liked her. He was just like every other Italian boy in the neighborhood. That's why my mother told me to stay away from the Italians.

"Italy has never done anything good for Hungary," my mother muttered. Steph and I laughed. It was just the Hungarian way of life in the Burg. My marriage to a Pole was considered acceptable.

"He's not a rutting animal," my sisters sniffed, "and he's Catholic. That's a plus."

Lenny grinned and muttered that they didn't know much about Poles. He waggled his eyebrows and I burst into laughs.

Poor Joe. He loves Steph but they're bad for each other. It's taken me a while to see it and it's easiest to see it when I contrast him with Ranger. Ranger is calm and collected when Steph is spastic and nuts. He's prepared for everything and he never says anything about the fact that she's not. He's simply prepared to cover her. Mrs. Laskey gushed over him for weeks after Ranger rescued Steph from Con Stiva's coffin.

"He woke you up at gunpoint!" the Burg exclaimed.

"Yeah, but he did it for love," Mrs. Laskey sighed. The Burg made disgusted sounds but Mrs. Laskey stood firm. "Well, I didn't see the cops solving that case and finding Stephanie. Ranger found her. Probably he would have kept searching until he exhausted himself."

The Burg shut up, but that's the day the bookie had to start taking bets on Ranger seriously.

* * *

We've been back from the shore for three weeks and we're back into routine. Pick up the boys, serve as chauffeur, check on my mother-in-law, call Mom, do the books at the plumbing business. My life is busy. I hate the idea that stay-at-home moms don't do anything. Maybe my mother's generation didn't, but every SAHM I know is just as busy as a 'working' mom.

My phone rings.

"Mary Lou?"

"Hi, Ram! Need something."

"Interested in a part-time job?"

No way. I have enough jobs, but I'm curious about this one. "Doing what?"

"Intelligence Officer."

Huh? "I'm afraid I don't follow you, Ram."

I hear a chuckle. "Would you be willing to come to the office and discuss it?"

I check the time. I have two hours before I need to pick the boys up. "Sure."

"Great. Thank you." _Click._

I count words. 23. Ha! I can't wait to gloat to Connie. I think the trick is they have to initiate the conversation.

I head to RangeMan. It's a slick building and I can't wait to find out what Ram wants. The RangeMan at the desk waves at me. I know this one.

"Cal, right?"

A nod. We've learned that Cal is absolutely silent. We've tried.

I head to the elevator and it opens the moment I'm there. I step inside and exit on the 5th floor. It's absolutely silent but Ram is waiting.

"Mary Lou."

I see why Connie's hot for him. He has gorgeous blue eyes and wavy brown hair. Connie and I agree: Bradley Cooper. That's who he reminds us of. I grin. "Time for a haircut."

He groans. "I might as well make a weekly appointment."

I laugh and he escorts me to his office. He offers me a water and a chair. Moments later, another man enters.

"Manuel Sanchez. Head of Investigations and Bond Enforcement. Welcome to RangeMan Trenton."

"Thank you." I look at him closely for a moment. "I remember your name. You were the one shot . . ."

He smiles slightly and nods. "Yes. Good memory."

I smile, grateful he didn't take offense to me mentioning a possibly traumatic moment in his life. "I have to remember all the nicknames. Yours is 'Wifey', right?"

He grins at Ram. "Perfect." Ram is nodding, looking thrilled. He motions for me to take a seat.

"In short, Mary Lou, we need someone who can keep us up to date on the Trenton gossip. Steph used to do it when she worked solo. Now that she's inside the company, she's out of the gossip loop and our knowledge of what's going on is suffering. Your ability to dig up the dirt on Joyce and David Pickens is something we need. You're Burg, you're in the loop, and we consider you trustworthy."

I know I must look shocked.

Manuel smiles. "In short, we're asking if you'd be willing to work for us as a contract employee. We'll pay you a set amount and you pass us the gossip you hear."

I'm too shocked to say anything. "You'll pay me for the crap I hear every day?"

The men nod.

"Why?" I can't imagine why they'd want this.

"Well, the information you passed us about David Pickens allowed us to screw him too," Ram says, grinning.

"How?" I ask, leaning forward.

"Well, remember when David said Joyce was his playtoy?" I nod. "Well, once we started naming all his 'girlfriends' and pointing out that Maine Child Services wouldn't care about his money problems, we forced him to accept that Joyce is going to be his only source of relief." My eyes widen and my mouth drops. "Yeah. We passed him the name of a bond agent we work with so he can get those low bonds, but he now knows we're watching him. We're checking to make sure he uses that money to take care of his kids."

"So now he's screwed," Manny says. "He's working twice as hard for the same amount of money, but his kids are getting their support like they should. Joyce is his only 'girlfriend' and he can't afford her."

I lean back and laugh. I thought Burg women were vicious. These men take it to another level but I **love** their reasons for doing it. Too bad they won't let me brag about it. Attitudes toward RangeMan might change but I bet they wouldn't want that. Steph says they like their aura of dangerous notoriety.

"That has an almost Godfather feel to it."

I groan mentally as they quote in unison. "We made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

* * *

I tell Lenny about the RangeMan offer. He, too, is dumbfounded.

"They want to know your Burg gossip?" he asks, bewildered. I tell him what they did with info I dug up on David Pickens and he laughs until he's forced to clutch his chest.

"Lou, take the job. Hell, get paid to pass the stuff you hear all day. If it has outcomes like that, you'll do Trenton a public service."

I return to RangeMan the next day and I negotiate a contract with Ram and Manny. They're thrilled. I fill out all their paperwork to become a contract employee and they tell me that I'll be paid on direct deposit. I meet with Hector Gutierrez, Steph's partner and, even though I know I should be frightened silly of him, I hug him immediately. I turn to Ram, who looks shocked.

"Can you tell him that I want him to know how much I love and appreciate his willingness to train and protect my best friend? I know that I'll get back in my minivan and shake from head to toe but Steph loves him, so I do too."

Ram stares at me for a moment, then turns to Hector and repeats that. Hector is not smiling and he stares at me for a minute. Finally, I get a small smile and a sentence.

"Keep hugging me like that and the men will stop thinking I'm scary," Ram translates. I step back and smile.

"I doubt that. I think you're pretty scary right now."

That gets a quick grin and a nod. Hector motions for me to enter his office and I'm given an email address and a laptop. He walks me through how to access the laptop and Ram tells me to make certain no one else in my family accesses my profile. They understand that my laptop will see lots of curious fingers in my home, so my profile has special permissions on it but they created another profile so my family can use it if they need to. I assure them we have a high-speed connection at home and I'll make sure no one uses my profile.

I leave RangeMan as a contract RangeMan employee.

* * *

Burg gossip stop one: Soccer practice.

"_Have you heard about Marvin Giametti?"_

"_No! What?"_

"_He was sleeping with Elise Gooddall. You remember her? She was Elisa Marley before she married the first time."_

"_Oh? Which marriage is this?"_

"_Well, marriage three is breaking up. Apparently Marvin's swimmers are pretty powerful." _Multiple gasps.

"_Is she certain the baby's not her husband's?"_

"_He's in jail."_

I cringe. The women continue to discuss Marvin's swimmers while I laugh.

"_Have you heard about Joyce Barnhardt?"_ I have to work to keep from twisting my head like the Exorcist.

"_Yes! They foreclosed on her house!"_ All the women laugh and I grin and move closer. The ladies move to make room for me. They know I hate her.

"What happened?"

They fill me in. Joyce tried to win her house at the auction, but when the county officials pointed out that she'd also have to pay all the back taxes, she had to watch in fury as it sold for $30,000 plus the outstanding taxes. It was an absolute steal.

"What about the case against her?"

"Mary Lou, where have you been?" Myra laughs. "You're out of the loop. The judge offset the judgments. Her case for the back taxes was a wash against Larry's case for 5 years of alimony payments. She owes him $15,000."

We all laugh. "She's now trying to land Allen Rusconi. Construction Magnate." We nod. Rusconi Construction is huge. "Allen had her investigated. I think she must be the only person in the Burg who doesn't know. He's treating her like a dog and she's hanging on, trying to land him."

We all laugh. Joyce is universally hated. If she'd ever been a team player we might not be so vicious toward her.

Soccer practice ends and I herd three sweaty, hot boys to the minivan and head home to start dinner.

After dinner, I tap into the gossip lines. For the first time, I'm taking notes on everything I hear and after each call, I type it on the computer. I send emails nightly to Manny, Ram, and Zip. They're thrilled. My mob information is limited because Connie's my best source but I refuse to inform on close friends. The guys accepted that with good grace. I guess they have other sources in that direction.

I'm getting paid to pass the info I hear. I never thought I'd fall into this kind of job. I love my BFF.

* * *

My first RangeMan check left me gasping. I checked the bank balance three times, waiting for it to change.

"Lou?"

I stare at Lenny and point to the computer. He looks and gasps.

"$2600? For _gossip_?"

I nod. We're both stunned, so I call Ram.

"Ram?"

"Mary Lou?"

"I just received my first paycheck."

"Yeah, sorry about that. We're waiting for one check to come in."

"I think there's been a mistake, Ram. You paid me $2600."

"One moment." I hear him shuffle papers. "RangeMan takes 15% on bonds, due to the dangerous nature of our skips, and we don't take anything lower than $50,000." Lenny has the calculator doing the math. "Your cut is 2% when your information leads directly to our being able to apprehend. We've been able to apprehend eight skips this month. That was $1400. Your base is $2000 a month. We owe you another $200. After taxes . . ." Ram grumbles about taxes and the government fleecing of soldiers and civilians for lobbyist parties.

I'm simply staring at the numbers in shock. My god. "Why didn't Steph do this for you?"

"She didn't want to be a RangeMan employee."

"Why?" I can't imagine it.

"I'm sure you can think of one reason she might not want to work here . . . "

Ranger's face floats across my mind and I nod. Yeah, Ranger. "Right."

"Right. Any questions?"

"Nope. Glad to know I'm helping."

"You are. Thanks." _Click_.

* * *

I enjoy my new status as a RangeMan employee. Lenny encourages me to use the money on myself, but I immediately start stashing it into a college fund for the boys. They'll need every penny. Lenny sighs and shakes his head.

"It won't hurt for you to take care of you too, Lou."

I smile and pat his cheek. "You take care of your family just fine, Lenny. This money can help the boys."

Lenny didn't say anything else but I know my husband. My acknowledgement of his ability to care for his family meant more than anything else I could say to him.

On Sunday, we head to my mother's. I hope that my grandmother is there. Otherwise, the boys will be hungry when we leave. Luck is in my favor. Granny Agnes, my grandmother, is there and she cooked. The boys enjoy Hungarian goulash and we all collapse in the living room and watch the preseason football games.

"Did you hear about Valerie Plum?"

I turn my head to the kitchen.

"Val? What about Val?"

Mary Kate smirks. "Val had to get a job." Mary Kate and Val have a love/hate relationship. Steve was Mary Kate's boyfriend and MK **hated** Valerie Plum for marrying him and getting to move to sunny California. When Val returned, having been replaced by the babysitter, Mary Kate smirked. They're working on being friends again, but I can tell Mary Kate will always enjoy hearing bad news about Val.

Some friendship. I'd never do that to Steph. We're either friends or we're not.

"No!" my relatives gasp. I'm surprised.

"Yeah. Albert knocked her up again. She's working for a furniture store now."

I immediately walk outside and call Steph. She answers. "Yo!"

I laugh. "Been working there too long."

"Oh god, don't tell me," she moans. I hear her laugh. "OK, what's up?"

"Val. She's working?"

"Yeah. You know Albert's law practice never really took off and with the new baby coming, they need more money."

"How's she doing?"

"Whining. She wants to stay at home but they can't afford that right now, so Albert put his foot down."

"Albert? He knows how?"

Steph laughs. "I guess he figured out which direction was down. My mother is babysitting Lisa and the girls are back in school. Dad's losing his mind."

I laugh at that. Mr. Plum's obsession with his bathroom is legendary, well, if you know the family. "Well, they aren't over there all the time, right?"

"No, but Lisa screams all the time. It's insane. I'm tempted to ask Bobby to look at her. Anyway, how do you like being a RangeMan Trenton employee?"

"I love it. I can't believe you never did this. Why?"

"Ranger."

"I don't get it."

Steph sighs. "When Joe and I were on, Ranger was a temptation I didn't need. When Joe and I were off, Ranger was a temptation I thought I couldn't have. It was complicated."

"Now?"

"He's a temptation I hope I never get enough of."

I smile. "You tell him?"

"Not yet. There are some things I need to think about first."

"Steph? Tell him you love him. At least let him know that. Has he told you he loves you?"

A very quiet "Yeah."

"And how does it make you feel when he tells you?" Silence. I smile. "Exactly. Think of how he'll feel when you tell him. My favorite quote about love?"

"Yeah?"

"Love is absolute loyalty. People fade, looks fade, but loyalty never fades. You can depend so much on certain people, you can set your watch by them. And that's love, even if it doesn't seem very exciting."

It's quiet. "Who said that?"

"Sylvester Stallone."

We laugh.

* * *

Today's a busy day. Drew has a doctor's appointment, my mother-in-law has a dentist's appointment, quarterly taxes are due for the plumbing business and the RangeMan Trenton guys are getting close to the deadline on an important skip. They told me to call if I have any news; it's that important.

No problem. I'm enjoying this job more than I ever thought I would. I also realize I'm working two jobs and I get to set my hours at both. I love this. I'm a 'working' stay-at-home mom.

I collect my mother-in-law first and drop her off at the dentist's. I collect Drew and take him to the doctor's. Drew's annual checkup goes just fine and I swing back by the dentist's office to collect Magda. I return Drew to school and Magda and I head to Giovichinni's for some lunch.

Magda and I are enjoying lunch when Francine Koslock walks in with a man. Her cousin George is the important skip and the guys say he's keeping an extremely low profile. I passed over the information that George has enough dietary problems to make him a closet vegetarian, but that they should stalk Giovichinni's. Every man has a weakness and the chicken scarpariello at Giovichinni's is George's.

I watch Francine and her friend walk into the deli and I pull my cell phone and text a message. Thirty minutes later, half the Burg is staring out of the windows as the Trenton RangeMen handcuff George and toss him into their SUV.

It took them less than three minutes once he walked out. Everyone was stunned. It was over as fast as they got to the windows.

"How in the world did they know he was here?" Magda asks, stunned.

Everyone looks at me, but I shrug. "No idea."

"Your best friend works at RangeMan. You aren't passing them information?" Francine asks, in tears. I pass her my cell phone. No outgoing calls, no texts. The Burg is confused.

"You brought George here."

"In disguise!" she cries.

"Hard to disguise that club foot. Those men are good and they were out there when **I** arrived. I just didn't say anything."

There are murmurs through Giovichinni's. That's true. Everyone saw the black SUV and was watching it curiously. Everyone returns to their seats and Magda stares at me curiously.

"So who did you text?"

"Lenny, to let him know we were headed to the business when we finished lunch."

Magda nods. We finish lunch and head to the business.

Ram told me that any texts sent to them from my phone would disappear 10 minutes after they read them. So I sent two texts, one to Lenny and one to Ram. Thank god for that.

* * *

Steph's clearance starts on Friday. I told Lenny to be prepared to take the boys at any point. The RangeMen asked me if I would be willing to organize a night out for some female guests. They gave me a budget and an extra check for doing the extra work. I'm surprised and asked why they didn't ask Ella.

"You know Steph's friends and what you women like to do. Just black out Saturday night."

No problem. I arrange a spa night for Friday and coordinate with RangeMan Trenton to put a guard in place. I also arrange a shopping trip to King of Prussia. Apparently, one of the ladies in the group has heard of it and wants to go. The RangeMen invite me and Lenny to join them Saturday night. I've never seen Steph do a 'distraction' and she's always described them as fun, so I call Magda and ask her to babysit the boys Saturday night.

That's a distraction? Steph's right; that does look like fun. Ram whispers for us not to be fooled. The 'mark' is a rapist. Lenny pales and grasps my hands. I realize that Steph has amazing strength to do that and look absolutely normal. She doesn't look afraid or nervous. If Ram hadn't told me that the 'mark' was a rapist, I'd simply think Steph was flirting with a handsome man.

I leave with new respect for my BFF. She does an incredibly dangerous job and looks calm and cool doing it. I also want to know where she got that dress and those heels!

Thursday is the final day of Steph's clearance and I'm in the gym while she attempts to defend in hand to hand combat against one of the hottest men I've ever seen live. Lord, black hair, green eyes, amazing upper body. I'm sitting next to his wife, Cindy, and I gushed over him for at least 10 minutes before she grinned.

"My constant problem. I've had women flirt with him right in front of my face."

I laugh and congratulate her for her outstanding taste. "My husband was a high school football star but he's definitely lost that body."

"Oh believe me, it's the RangeMan lifestyle. I'm in better health now than I was in high school because these men are fitness fanatics."

I can believe it. Steph's dropped at least 15 pounds. She's fit, lean, and sexy. She's smaller now than she was in high school. Steph's doing a good job but the RangeMan Trenton men are all blank-faced. The ladies are the only ones cheering for Steph in this gym. I squeeze Connie's hand and we both hope Steph makes it.

Lula is the one who gives her the idea necessary for her to break the hold the RangeMan has on her. Tank looks amused at his fiancée but Lula is unrepentant. She's proud of Steph and everything she's doing and she's quick to tell everybody to respect her partner. Steph is a certified ass-kicker and now the RangeMen are about to give her the piece of paper to prove it.

The hour ends and Steph stretches out on the mats. The scores will be released later. Every woman in the room immediately runs for her.

"Steph?" I drop to the mats at her side and push her sweaty hair out of her face.

"Exhausted," she gasps. She looks at Cindy. "Tell Danny to expect me to poach more of his men in retaliation."

Cindy laughs.

* * *

I head home. Lenny's left a note.

_Took the boys for pizza and a movie._

I love my husband.

I sit on my couch with a cup of coffee and look around. This is my life. Lenny, the boys, my family and my friends. I love my life. I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. My phone rings.

"Hey."

"Hey. Congrats."

"I didn't say anything."

"Please, Steph. I know you passed. I don't have to ask. Wanna tell me about it?"

"Not right now. Too tired. How are the boys?"

"Gone. Lenny took them for pizza. I have the house to myself."

"Lucky." We're quiet.

"Did you hear about Elise Goddall?"

* * *

_"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow."_

_William Shakespeare_


	2. Singles Ministry

**A/N: One-Shot Prompt from molly9429. :) I hope I did it justice. Thanks!**

**This starts a year before Lula's visit to San Antonio.**

* * *

**Singles Ministry**

**Mrs. CJ's POV**

Marquise mentions that the young people of the church want to start a singles ministry. I laugh and encourage him to encourage them in that. He grins.

"They want you to join the committee."

Huh. "Why?"

"You single."

"I'm widowed."

"You ain't married."

And I never wanna be again. No thank you. I had enough struggle in my life with men. The only men in my life now are my boys and grandsons. That's enough.

"I don't think that's for me. They ain't trying to match make, is they?"

"Dunno. I'd like you to join and keep an eye on them. Make sure they stay godly."

I ain't yo' strong woman. I stare at Marquise, who blushes. "Please? I asked around. Sometimes singles ministries can be good for the church. Other times they ain't. You've had a long walk with Jesus on your own. You'll know if what they're doing is good for the church."

"If I join this committee, it'll be cuz I want to."

* * *

I go to the first meeting. It's headed by Patricia, a lovely young lady who just moved here from Indianapolis. She a good looking girl, 'bout 30, tall with a good figure. College educated and classy but she's a true prayer warrior. I like that about her and so do Wilma and Thelma. They want me to send her picture to Pierre. If they send it, he'll ignore it. I ain't meddlin' in my son's love life. I've seen Antoine give her the eye but he ain't her type and she cold to him. I don't like that. I do sometimes wonder what Pierre might think of her.

"Well, what I'd like to do is make the singles ministry a starting point for encouraging a closer walk with God among all the members of the church," she says. She looks around the table. "The best singles ministries I've been in have recognized that we need to reach out to all members of the community, from the older widows and widowers," she nods at me, "to the young singles right out of high school and college. We all have something to add to the body of Christ."

"Yeah, that may be," Sister Wilson says, leaning forward, "but we ain't interested in having some kinda meat market in our church."

"And where would you like your church members to meet their mates? In the club? Bars?" Patricia fires back. I smile. Good points. "I feel that it's time for the church to stop being embarrassed about wanting its members to marry and be fruitful within the church.

Time was the entire community ensured that marriages happened within the church. Elders in the church would be on the lookout for good men and women to marry. They encouraged strong families. We need to bring that back, especially the black church.

I hear ya'll. You moan about all these girls having babies but you're not part of the solution. The solution is to bring God back into the marriage and help these girls learn to respect themselves. That starts with giving them a firm foundation in God's love and wisdom."

Sister Wilson sits back.

I nod. "I agree. My girls stay in church." Everyone looks at me. "My son demanded his sisters keep their legs closed and respect themselves. They married good, God-fearing men. My youngest is the only one left still single and I worry 'bout her. Ain't no single men in our church."

"Ain't no good single men anywhere," Sister Thomas snickers.

"I resent that," Brother Dawson says, frowning. "I'm here. I'm a good man with a good job, single with no kids. I ain't a thug, so women ain't interested in me. I'd like to meet a woman who shares my interests and understands I ain't some thug."

Every woman at the table is quiet. Patricia and I are smiling.

"I tell you, if you want to find a bunch of men, start with men that just got out of jail or prison. My cousin just got out prison and he's in church every Sunday and Wednesday. His walk is serious. Look at men who just graduated college. Sons with nothing to do on Sunday. You gon' have to make it interesting for 'em, but they'll come. And don't judge 'em when they get here."

Patricia smiles. "These are good ideas, but we also need to look at the other end of the spectrum, which is why I asked Deaconess LaPierre to attend. We have widows and widowers in this ministry too. I don't want to concentrate just on the young. Our older parishioners have needs too. Romance, friendship, companionship, these are good things too."

"I can't think of no place I go that I'd need a date," I say, frowning.

"Really? Is it because you don't have a date or you don't have a place to go? Even going to the movies with someone can be fun. Yeah, you can go on your own, but it's more fun with someone else, hearing their opinions."

I shrug. Fine. I think I'll stay on this committee. It could be interesting.

* * *

Patricia is a force. She and Marquise organize to have an inter-church Singles Day, where the churches would plan a picnic at a local park in Lafayette, allow their members to meet, cultivate new members and minster to the singles who show.

It's a good idea and I wanna see how it goes off.

The day arrives and it's big in Lafayette. 12 churches signed up to attend and all members were told to bring their single relatives, so we switched to the convention center. I take Antoine and Chenae. I wish Pierre was here for this. I want him to meet Patricia.

Antoine immediately takes off and Chenae sticks close to me. She dressed well today. She looks sharp and I'm proud of my little girl. She's looking around and smiling.

"This is a nice turnout, Momma. Congratulations."

I laugh. "Don't congratulate me. Here, lemme introduce you to the woman in charge." I walk over to Patricia who smiles at Chenae. "Patricia, this is my youngest, Chenae. Chenae is in school at Tulane."

"Hello! Your mother brags on you all the time. Social work student, right?"

"Right." Chenae stares hard at Patricia then grins big. "Tau Chapter?"

Patricia laughs. "Where did you cross?"

"Omicron Psi." They embrace and I grin. When she joined the sorority, Chenae said it would give her an instant point of connection with lots of professional men and women. Pierre and I rolled our eyes but it looks like she was right. She and Patricia immediately start talking sorority business. I wave and walk off.

I have a good time. Us 'old timers' start a game of dominoes. I'm a good player so I get my bones and start putting men away. They bring some young boys over and, as long as we not betting, I play 'em. I put 'em all away. Eventually Antoine walks over.

"Momma." He kisses my cheek and grins. "You need some competition."

"Bring it, little boy." My son is a mean dominoes player. We switch the game to play points and Antoine and I start making moves. The pair we playing against is good but it becomes clear that this is a game between me and my son. I empty my hand first, winning the game. Antoine is second cuz he had one tile left. I look up and see we have a big group around us and everyone is cheering me.

I grin and take a quick bow. Antoine escorts me over to the refreshment tables for something to drink. I see him stuffing phone numbers in his pocket. Lord, I hope he's serious. I'd like to see him get married too. I spot Tamika with her friends and groan. That chile here to start mess.

"Antoine?" He looks at me. "Tamika is here. Don't start mess and if she starts mess, don't get involved."

He nods. "I promise Momma. I won't."

* * *

I'm in the talk for older church members when Patricia pokes her head in and motions for me to follow her. I follow her and the farther we get from my talk, the quicker I realize what happened.

Tamika and Antoine having a showdown.

"Yo' ain't no good. Where my child support, huh? Don't take care of your boys, don't do shit 'cept smoke weed and try to rap. You ain't shit."

"And you had his babies," I reply calmly. She swings around to me. I don't like getting into it wit' Tamika because she is my grandsons' mother, but that's **my** son.

I need to cut this short fast. Nearly everyone is watching and I hate seeing my son embarrassed. He holding his peace but I can see it's taking effort. "You say he ain't shit? You ain't shit, either. You had two babies for him, two for someone else, and you pregnant with a fifth. Ain't you tired of having babies yet?"

"Oh, you one to talk, Deaconess. Who the daddy of yo' babies?! You had five. You can't talk."

"My husband fathered each of my children and I worked like a dog to support 'em. You sit on your behind and collect child support from my son and benefits from the government. Get off yo' behind and work like I did. Antoine works. What he does in his off-hours is his business. He came here today for Godly purposes." Jesus, don't strike me down for that one if it ain't true. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here for a man, like the other women here."

I shake my head. "That ain't what a singles ministry is about, Tamika." I look at Antoine, who's calmed down and looks faintly amused. "And you're welcome."

She rolls her neck. "For what?"

"That when I spotted you here earlier, I asked Antoine to keep his peace. Otherwise my son mighta cussed you out."

* * *

"_You know Antoine's baby momma showed out." _Lots of laughter.

"_How'd she even know he was there?"_

"_I mighta made a few calls. We needed more people from Carencro." _Lots of laughs at that.

"_You surprised? Antoine's a mess. All Carol Jean's other children are fine. Pierre is a real success, her girls have degrees and good jobs. Antoine's the only failure."_

I walk in in time to respond to that last statement. "My son is not a failure." The gossip group stares at me. Marquise's wife, Anjette, and her two cronies. Every single one of 'em had a child by my husband and they like to act they shit don't stink. They the source of the rumors that I stepped out on my husband, trying to cover they shit.

"Antoine might not be the visible success like his siblings, but he's not a failure and if you want to say that about my child, let's talk about yours, Anjette. Key's a fry cook. Shay's on her fourth baby daddy. Louis is dead in some gang mess. I bet they daddies is real proud."

I stare hard at her and pray forgiveness from Marquise for that. I'm tired of people dumping on Antoine. I'm not sure what he does at the music studio but I know he's in the process of buying it. That means he must have a little bit of money. He a success just like Pierre, Wilma, Thelma, and Chenae. He just quiet about it.

Patricia walks in and we start the meeting. The inter-church meeting was a big success and our church singles ministry is a force now. We got a lot of interest from that meeting and we had a lot of new faces at the church the next day. I never shook so many hands in my life. I'm hoping these new people join and add to the church.

* * *

"I'm coming for a visit next week, Momma."

"Pierre! Oh that's wonderful. OK, Imma clean the house—"

"Momma, don't put yourself out. I just need to rest and relax. I thought we might go fishing."

Fishing? Uh oh. "What happened, baby?" Silence. "Pierre?"

"I need some time to clear my mind."

Code for something happened between him and Lula. I wanna meet this Lula woman. She must be special for Pierre to need to go fishin'. She got my son hung up in knots like I've never seen. "Good point. I ain't been fishing in a while. I cook, you clean."

"Deal."

"Church?"

"If I must."

"Yes, you must. Besides, I wanna introduce you to someone. Wear a nice tie."

"I'm not interested in meeting some woman, Momma."

"Your sisters wanna see you and you need to hear the word. I'm sure the only time you go is when I force you." Silence. "Umm hmm. I thought so. Bring a suit and tie, Pierre."

"Yes, Momma." _Click_.

I wonder what he'll think of Patricia.

* * *

Pierre and I spend a relaxing week near Vermilion Bay catching redfish. Pierre don't say much but it's clear my son is in love and confused. I don't press him to talk to me. He a man; if he need me, he know he can ask me what he needs to know.

We return to Carencro on Saturday and Pierre accompanies me to church the next day. Because it's Pierre, I go all out to match my son. I pull my nicest green skirt suit and the matching hat. I find my white gloves and apply some makeup. I finish the look with some sturdy two inch heels. I walk out and Pierre grins and whistles.

"I hate you wasting that fine on me, Momma."

I laugh and slap his arm. "My handsome son is taking me to church. I gotta step it up to stand by him."

He's got on his black, custom-tailored Richard James suit and a Charvet tie. I looked those up after his last visit and realized that my son's low-key, classic conservative suit was Savile Row, worth serious money, especially since it had been custom tailored for him. He picks up our Bibles and starts the rental Escalade while I lock the house. He opens my door, ensures I'm settled in the car, and we take off.

Our arrival at church causes women to stop and stare. Wilma and Thelma immediately stop they conversations to run over to hug him. They had no idea he was here. My grandchildren all run at him screaming "Uncle Pierre!" He's immediately hugging all the children who have jumped on him, which causes a few giggles among the usher and deacon boards. I hold my hat and look around covertly. Patricia is gapin' at my son. Good. Wilma and Thelma leave to get prepared for their choir duties and the children drop off Pierre and start playing again.

Antoine and Chenae show 10 minutes later, Antoine in his suit and tie like I asked him. Antoine's suit is Brooks Brothers and I know that's a good chunk of change too. Not thousands of dollars like Pierre's but definitely more expensive than anyone else here. I've wondered what made him buy that suit. Chenae looks pretty and polished, as always, and I told her to wear a hat. It's a classy little number and matches her outfit and shoes well.

After greeting his brothers-in-law, brother and sister, Pierre hands me my Bible and offers me his arm. I grin and walk into the church on my son's arm with my eldest son and youngest daughter right behind me.

I'm making a statement today.

My children are successes. All of 'em.

* * *

The church is rocking today and I'm having a good time. So is Pierre. He was raised in the church and, when I can drag him in, he usually enjoys a good service. Antoine accompanies me more often, so he's known. It's a packed house and I grinned when I realized it got even more packed 30 minutes after we arrived. Every woman here musta called her friends cuz Pierre has been the sole object of interest all morning. I know this makes him uncomfortable but he'll stick it out for me. Antoine has been smirking all morning.

Service ends and it's time for fellowship. I usually cut before they serve the meal and serve a meal at my house. I told Wilma and Thelma that Pierre needed peace and quiet. They understood and I've told Chenae to join her sisters for dinner. She's pouting because she's not getting a chance to spend much time with Pierre, but she'll obey. Antoine says he needs to get back to the studio, so it'll just be me and Pierre for lunch, like I want. Pierre is surrounded by eager young women trying to introduce themselves. Wilma and Thelma are running interference for him, but the fact that he just picked up Lisa and let her go to sleep on his broad shoulder just made more women fall in love with him. He good with children.

The single men are staring hard. They know they can't step to him. My son's Army Ranger background is known. They know he's deadly, sleeping niece or not. I can see they trying to figure out where the gun is.

Patricia's been watching him all morning, real discreet. I finally get close enough to introduce them.

"Patricia, this is my son Pierre. Pierre, Patricia Johnson."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Johnson. My mother tells me you're experiencing great success with your singles ministry."

She smiles faintly and holds a hand out to shake. "Yes, I'm enjoying the work. It's a calling for me."

Pierre's silent for a moment. "Divinity student?"

She looks at him in shock. "Yes. How did you know?"

He smiles and says nothing else. Patricia continues to stare at him and I see Pierre has no intention to say anything more, so I wave goodbye and we walk off.

Instead of us going home for dinner, Pierre drives to Lafayette and Ruth's Chris Steak House. I like this place and they vegetable sides are real good. We order and Pierre smiles faintly.

"Trying to set me up, Momma?"

"No. How did you know she was a divinity student?"

"When she said it was a calling for her, I saw that passion burning in her eyes. It was deep."

I nod and smile. My son. He reads people. "So what you think of her?"

He clenches his jaw and stares at the menu. "I think that I might be interested if Lula wasn't on my mind."

That makes up my mind. Lula is the one for him. I need to meet this woman. She has my son's heart and she need to claim it.

* * *

Patricia calls by the house the next morning. Pierre acknowledges her but heads out for his run.

"Sister LaPierre, I have an idea that will be slightly controversial so I would like your thoughts." She's still staring after Pierre.

"OK." I motion for her to sit. I start on some breakfast for Pierre when he returns and some breakfast for us now.

"I would like to do a speed dating exercise."

I stare at her. "You gonna have to explain that one to me, baby."

She smiles. "Well, I notice there's a lot of interest between members of the church but some are out of practice with approaching someone. The younger members know how to approach someone in the clubs but not in a more . . . less uninhibited setting."

I laugh. "They trying they Saturday night moves on Sunday morning?"

She releases a relieved breath. "Yes! I knew you'd understand."

I laugh. "So what you need?"

"Reverend Fulmer listens to your counsel. I know I'll get blow back on this one, which is why I'd like your help. Speed dating is just enough time for everyone to learn how to introduce themselves and get a few facts about themselves out without feeling like they need to keep going. We give them a score card and if both parties mark yes, we share their information with the match and allow them to get to know each other."

"You don't think that'll be more awkward?"

She shakes her head and accepts the plate of shrimp, grits, and eggs. "No ma'am. Knowing you only have 3-4 minutes to make an impression means you don't have time to fool around. Gotta be fast. Say something."

We talk the idea over as I fix Pierre's breakfast. Half a broiled grapefruit (gotta find my citrus spoons), hot black tea with no sugar, and dry toast. I fry three eggs. He need some protein for that big body.

I think on her idea as Pierre walks back in the door. My son. Too handsome for his own good. Patricia's fork has stopped halfway to her mouth. Pierre walked in topless, wiping his face and chest with his t-shirt, but he got a good healthy shine going on that body. My son's body is beautiful and strong and Patricia's eyes have glazed over. He nods at her, accepts the glass of water I hold out for him, and disappears to the bathroom. We hear the shower go and Patricia swallows hard. She looks at me.

"He's single but I think he may have a lady. I'm not sure."

She nods, shoulders slumped. "He get single, let me know."

I smile and nod. Sorry honey, but his heart belong to Tallulah.

* * *

I get dressed for this speed datin' thing. I thought it was a good idea but Patricia threw me when she suggested that I participate.

"The older members just as bad. Ya'll rely on your connections to help you meet someone. If you don't know someone who knows your interest, you're stuck."

Well, that's the truth, so I get pretty for this thang. I show up to the church, accept my badge with my number on it, and sit at a little table. Patricia stands up, introduces herself, and explains how this works. Three minutes, introduce yourself and talk. No pressure.

We'll see. The whistle blows and the first man sits down in front of me.

"Marvin."

"Carol Jean."

He smiles. "Nice to meet you, CJ. What you do?"

I stare at him for a moment. "Carol Jean and I'm retired."

He sits back, the smile gone. "My bad, Miss Thang. What you retired from?"

"I was a domestic."

"And you retired? How?"

None of your business. "The Lord made a way. What do you do?"

"I work at Lafayette Utilities. What you do for fun?"

"I read, watch TV, serve in the church, and visit my children and grandchildren."

"How many you got?"

"Five children, six grandchildren. You?"

"Six children. Twelve grandchildren. I like to watch sports. I follow the Saints on TV."

I nod and the bell rings. Thank god, but Patricia was right on this. Just enough time to realize I don't like him and it makes me grateful I don't have to spend no mo' time with him.

The second man sits.

"Hello. I'm Larry."

"Carol Jean. Pleased to meet you."

"You married?"

I look at him funny. "What?"

"The woman over there say you married." I look over. Anjette waves her fingers. I lean back and sigh.

"I'm widowed."

"You kill him?"

I look at him. "Leave." He stands up and waits for the bell to ring. I motion for Patricia. "Tell Reverend I need to speak to him."

She nods and the bell rings.

"Hello."

"Hi." This one is smiling at me. I don't like his smile. It remind me of Antoine, my husband, when he bout to get into something. This one is sizing me up and he look to be too young. "You done?"

"You Antoine's momma, right?"

"Yes. You know my son?"

"Yeah. I used to work with him." Well, that's a no.

"Oh yeah? Doin' what?"

"Track production. Where yo' daughter?"

"Which one?"

"Chenae."

"School. Why you ask?"

"Nice ass on that girl. I figured she got it from her momma."

"Get yo' uncouth ass up from this table." Blessed be, Jesus. I apologize for cussing in your house.

Marquise come over. "James, good to see you. You mind? I need to have a quick chat with Mrs. Carol Jean here."

"Sure." He gets up and I'm grateful.

"What's wrong?"

"Get yo' wife under control," I hiss. Marquise blushes. "I mean it. She told the second man I was married. Now, I been respecting yo' wife for years and not calling her out, but she can't seem to respect me back. I 'bout had it. Check her or I will."

"Right. I'll handle that, Carol Jean. Thank you," Marquise says quietly. He stands up to leave and I review my card.

Jesus help me.

At the end of the night, I check three men I might be a little more interested in and leave. I don't make any matches.

I go home and eat some ice cream. My feelings is hurt for some reason. I been a good woman for years, raised five good children, serve my church and my God faithfully, and I've been blessed. I don't want a man, necessarily, but I guess I'm vain enough to want to know I'm still desirable.

I still like to hear I'm pretty.

* * *

Singles ministry meeting is breaking up on Tuesday night when I hear my name being called.

"Sister LaPierre?"

I turn. I remember this man from service last week. "Yes."

He smiles. "William Daniels. Pleasure to meet you. Wondering if you were busy this Friday night."

I cock my head to the side. "Perhaps. You need something?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to see a movie."

Oh. He askin' for a date. I don't know what to say. "Oh. Ah. Sure."

He smiles. "I know. I can't figure out what's more awkward. Asking a pretty girl at 15 or asking a pretty woman at 56."

I laugh. "I think that never goes away." I give him my address and phone number and leave.

Thank you, Jesus. Yo' time, not mine. I'll remember that in future.

Friday night I'm looking in my closet. William is supposed to be here in an hour and I can't figure out what to wear. The doorbell rings and I panic. I'm not ready. My hair a mess, I'm in my panties and slip and house shoes. I hear the door open and calm down. It's one of my children.

"Momma?" Wilma, and Thelma with her. Thelma has a suit cover.

"Girls. You need something?"

They grin. "We hear you got a hot date."

"Damn! Everyone talks too much," I grouse. I'm already nervous. The girls laugh.

"Well, we thought you might need some help, so…" Thelma removes the suit cover to show a nice dress. Something in my size and in a bright pretty pink. OK. I calm down.

"OK, I have hair and Thelma will give you a quick manicure. You already took your shower, right Momma?"

"Yeah."

"Great."

I slip into my housedress and sit on the bed and relax while my daughters primp me. Wilma calls Chenae and they put her on speaker so she can be involved. Chenae starts telling me silly stories from college to make me laugh and calm me down. Antoine shows up 30 minutes later and simply watches his sisters primp me.

The door rings right on time and I'm nervous again. Antoine motions for me to take my time.

"I got the door, Momma."

"Have some manners, Antoine," Thelma says. Antoine throws her a nasty look but leaves the room. Wilma combs out all the pretty curls she just put in and I test my fingernails. They dry, so the girls help me into my dress and give me a quick spritz of perfume. Wilma hands me my purse, then looks at it.

"Lord no. Purse, not satchel." She digs in my closet for a smaller purse then puts my wallet, keys, phone, mints, and lipstick into it.

"You missing something," Thelma says. Wilma and I look at her. My purse has everything but Thelma passes over a 3-pack of Trojans. I look at her, wild-eyed, while they laugh. "Hey, you might decide to give him a little more than a goodnight buss after the movie."

"Fools," but I put the condoms in the purse.

It's been almost two decades. I wonder if I even remember what one looks like.

* * *

William Daniels is a handsome man. Six foot, solid and broad, he's a gentleman the entire evening. We see a Tyler Perry movie and debate it over milkshakes later. He a good conversationalist and he interesting. He just moved to the area but he from Abbeville. Good. It'll be easy to find out about his people.

We start seeing each other at least every other week. Patricia saw me at a singles ministry meeting and she didn't say anything, but she clapped me on the back and smiled. Her successful ministry has nearly doubled the size of the church and Marquise told her she has an associate minister position here the moment she graduates divinity school.

"_You know she only joined the singles ministry to find a man."_

"_She too old. He a good looking man. She look like a tar baby."_

"_Humph. Don't worry. That kitty hadn't changed its stripes. I'm sure she sleeping with him. I wonder who his people is."_

Anjette back on that same mess. I wonder if Marquise know.

William and I been seeing each other for a few months before I decide to sleep with him. I forgot what a penis looks like but he sho' reminded me how good one felt. I wake up the next morning feeling good, and sore, in places that had cobwebs growing. We only needed two of them condoms. We ain't 20 no more.

I fix him some breakfast and he praise it, and kiss me, before leaving. My phone starts blowing up.

"Momma?"

"Yes, Thelma?"

"I'm hearing that William just left yo' house. What's going on Momma? Are you OK?"

"Oh, I'm fine, baby." I'm grinning and looking at my hair. Time for the hair dresser.

"Oh. OH!" I hear her laugh. "He clean the pipes?"

"Spic and span," I laugh.

"OK. I was worried. Thought he mighta stayed cuz you were ill or sick. You need anything, Momma?"

"Condoms."

She laughs and hangs up.

Antoine is next.

"Momma?"

"Yes, son?"

"You OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"No reason. Well, I mean, I heard that William just left yo' house. Got worried."

"I'm fine."

"I don't wanna take this conversation no further, do I?"

"Nope."

"OK. Glad to know you OK, Momma." _Click_.

Wilma's and Chenae's calls are just like Thelma's and Antoine's. Wilma cheered me on. Chenae seemed disturbed.

Pierre's call was the most interesting.

"Momma?"

"Pierre?"

"He make you happy?"

I grin. "Oh yeah, he sho' did that, baby."

"More than I wanna know, Momma. Long as he ain't selfish. Can't wait to meet him."

"I can't wait for you to meet him, baby." _Click_.

* * *

A week later, Pierre calls and says that he's coming for a visit. All his boys will be with him this time. I grin and dance a jig.

I love his friends. That Lester is the funniest young man I ever met. Bobby has the background and upbringing that I know Pierre wish he had, but he's not judgmental. Bobby got a good head on his shoulders and a good heart in his chest. I wish Chenae would get over her crush on him. It's deep and I'm starting to worry it's more than just puppy love.

I have a special place in my heart for Carlos, Ranger. I've learned that the less Pierre speaks about someone, the closer to his heart they are. It took me withholding desserts from them to find out that Ranger and Pierre are partners. They told me a few stories, which I'm sure they cleaned up, that explained how they became such close partners and friends. I've watched Pierre and Ranger communicate without saying a word. It's a beautiful thing to see Pierre have close friends.

The boys arrive a week later. I know the rules. I don't cook, I don't clean. Pierre didn't even have to ask his boys to step up. They took me to the side, during their very first visit, and told me that they were grown men. They didn't want me cleaning up behind them. They respected me and my home and I wasn't there to serve them.

I've sat on my behind and watched those boys vacuum and dust my house during a visit to keep me from cleaning. So I stack fresh linens and fill the fridge. They take care of everything else.

Ranger and Pierre exit the rental F-150 and Ranger strides over to me. I'm happy to see him and he picks me up and twirls me around.

"Mrs. CJ!" I get a kiss on the cheek and I'm grinning.

"Ranger! Boy, you getting' thin! How many pounds you wanna gain on this trip?"

He blushes and the other boys laugh. Lester and Bobby have a Tahoe. These boys never rent small cars.

"Let's keep it in the single digits."

Bobby and Lester hug and kiss me and they all troop into the house. They divide up the rooms, schedule the shower among themselves and iron and hang clothes. I'm always amused by that but Lester says it's that Army ethic. Always have your uniform ready for use as a moment's notice. They in the living room, pigging out on fresh fruit, when the doorbell rings. It's Friday night and I have a date, so I get my things and when I come out, all the boys are staring hard at William, who is staring back.

"Oh. Well, I guess we need some introductions. William, this is my son Pierre and his friends, Ranger, Bobby and Lester. Boys, this is William Daniels."

I look at Pierre. I wanna know what my son thinks. I enjoy my time with William but if Pierre say he no good, this will be our last date.

Pierre turns to me. "You couldn't do better than a jarhead?"

I'm astonished and embarrassed but William laughs. "It's alright. You know the Army has it all backwards?" He winks at me. "YMRA SU, which means Yes, My Retarded Ass Signed Up. Or, Ain't Ready to be Marines Yet."

The boys all laugh. They each shake William's hand and Pierre kisses me on the cheek. "Have fun, Momma."

William takes my hand and we get in the car. William looks at me and smiles. "If I'da flunked that son, this would be our last date, huh?"

"Glad you recognized it."

Knowing he has Pierre's approval takes a load of weight off my shoulders. Now I feel OK being intimate with him. This ain't my husband and this ain't Marcus. I can feel free to be open to this man.

* * *

"_I can't believe her ugly ass landed a man that handsome."_

"_I know! Shit, I was interested in him but he can't see me for that ugly chile in his face all the time."_

"_Don't worry. It's just for sex. He just need some kitty and she easy enough to give it to him."_

"_Girl, you a fool. That man is interested in Pierre. Pierre got money, honey."_

I'm done. I had it. Jesus, just let me last through this day. I gotta get away from church and the Sabbath before I break Anjette's behind open.

Ain't but three people around here that know the secret 'bout Marquise. I respected my husband's best friend and his brother and kept my mouth closed, but his wife can't give me that same courtesy, so I'm done. I'm done talking to her and I'm done pleading with him. I'll change churches if need be. Marquise is a very good preacher but if he can't control his wife, then his house has a shaky foundation.

Service finally ends and I leave. I'm fuming and the children know to stay out of my line of sight. They smart, though. They put the grands in front of me to calm me down and it works. Antoine has Quint and Jayson today and all the grandchildren is playing outside when the children finally start asking questions. They put Pierre and Chenae on the phone and Chenae has a fit. She ready to drive over from New Orleans and beat Anjette down but Pierre is surprisingly calm. Everyone is curious. Pierre don't take disrespect to me lightly.

"Momma?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"My opinion? You not gon' win the direct battle with her because she has time and friends to fight her battle. You'll come across looking mean and short."

"You saying Momma should just take this?" Antoine says quietly. I know that look. He furious.

"Nope. I'm saying that Momma has something Anjette don't. She has influence. Reverend Fulmer make decisions based on Momma's opinion. Committee heads look to Momma's opinion on what they should do. They ain't looking at Anjette and she the First Lady. Momma is the power in the church. She the true First Lady. Be interesting to see what might happen if Momma pull back from all her committees and stops giving advice until Anjette get a permanent leash.

And if I were you, Momma, I'd start with Patricia Johnson. Her singles ministry doubled the size of the church and you been real active helping her. Be interesting if Momma let it be known she was thinking of leaving the church because the First Lady is abusive to her. Let Patricia hear that and just sit back. Thelma, Wilma, y'all make it clear you prepared to follow Momma to her new church home. I say Anjette will have a leash in two weeks flat. Probably less."

Antoine smiles and nods. "Good plan." He looks at me. "I do the sound and video editing for Reverend Fulmer at my studio, for the DVDs and CDs he sell. I'll pull my support too."

"Thank you, baby," I tell him quietly. He squeezes my hands.

I mighta had a shit husband, but my babies are my blessing. I stayed and prayed and did what was right and I was blessed with children who come when I need 'em.

* * *

I tell Marquise that I'm resigning from all my committees and groups except Deacon Board. He's shocked.

"Why, Carol Jean?" He honestly looks panicked.

"Because your wife can't respect me. She constantly gossips and whispers about me in this church. I come to church to have my spirit refreshed, not drained. I'm tired, Marquise. I asked her for years to stop lying on me, and I kept my counsel out of respect for you but I can't continue. I'm breakable like the next person. Imma start shopping for a new church home, one where I can go and be respected."

Marquise sits back, pale. I stand and smile sadly at him.

"I've loved being here Marquise, but yo' wife gon' get her way. I'm leaving."

I walk out and wait for the results.

Within a week, the head of every committee I'm on calls or drops by to convince me to stay. I'm polite but firm. The First Lady is the problem and I'm leaving. Patricia is the most furious when she leaves. Wilma and Thelma also let it be known that they're leaving and Antoine sends Marquise a notice of intent to terminate their business relationship. The pressure is building.

Ten days after I speak to Marquise, he motions for me to follow him to his office.

"I've told my wife that she will end her harassment of you immediately and she will ensure that everyone that was beating you down will stop immediately."

"You've done that before."

"Never under threat of divorce."

I sit back, eyes wide. Marquise looks sad and tired, but resolute.

"You ain't the only one been suffering her tongue and I realized you right. She stepped out on me, repeatedly, and then has no shame to be embarrassed. Instead she threw my difficulties in my face. She hasn't honored our marriage at all. You was in an abusive one and you still stayed and stayed faithful. My wife hasn't shown a fraction of your strength. I haven't shown a fraction of your strength, embarrassed that I felt like less than a man."

Marquise looks ready to break and I reach a hand out. He moves from behind his desk and moves to the chair next to me. We grasp hands and sit quietly for a few minutes.

"I meant it," he says. "I'm ready to end it. I been accepting it for damn near 30 years. This is foolishness."

"Then let's pray. Let's ask God for his direction."

A week later, I tell everyone I'm staying. I love my church. I slowly start participating in my committees again. Everyone is happy, including Marquise.

After consulting a lawyer, he files on Anjette.

* * *

"Momma?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm moving to San Antonio in a few weeks."

I sit, shocked. "When? Where are you going to live? You need me to go find you an apartment? You—"I start making lists of things he might need and what I can do to make this move easy for him.

"I'm opening a branch in San Antonio. Me, Bobby and Lester are finishing off the master plan. We'll be in San Antonio for at least a year."

I can feel the tears. I'm so happy. My son will finally be less than a plane ride away. "Baby, that's wonderful. I can't wait to see you. What about Ranger?"

"He's on assignment. He'll join us in San Antonio when it's over."

"OK, baby. I can't wait for you to come home."

"I'm looking forward to it, Momma. I had it with snow." We laugh and hang up.

Pierre's move to Texas makes it around Carencro in hours. Women start talking about him like he they property. My in-laws get excited. They'll be able to plug Pierre for money directly instead of having to humble themselves before me. I laugh. They don't know my son, which is they own fault.

Pierre moves to San Antonio two weeks later, which provides a welcome high. William tells me that his company wants him to work out of the New Orleans office. That's a two hour drive one way, so he wants to get established in New Orleans first then he'll call me. I consider that goodbye.

Pierre tells me not to assume that. Give him some time. If he doesn't call, then it was goodbye. If he calls, he's still interested.

I ask him why he thinks that.

"It's what I told Lula."

I take my son's words on faith. William calls me two weeks later. He's gonna be there for six months then he's moving home. He wanna call me every week. I'm OK with that and Thursday night become our phone night. Two weeks later, Pierre calls me to tell me Lula's just arrived for a visit. He'll bring her to visit me soon.

No he ain't. I been hearing about this woman for three years. Imma meet his woman **NOW**.


	3. I Don't Fight for Me

**A/N: Assume all conversations among the LC are in Spanish**

* * *

**I Don't Fight for Me**

"_It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for;  
__I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill."_

** Trenton, 4 years ago**

I'm outside of the restaurant watching him. I've been waiting on his arrival for an hour and I'm still uncertain. I'm thinking of trusting my life to this man and I cannot read him. This is a first. I look east. I spotted the first lookout 30 minutes ago. There's no reason for a well-dressed black man to be in this area, so he's deliberate. 15 minutes later I spotted a Hispanic, but I know him.

Lester Santos. I recognize him from childhood. He went inside and spoke to the man but left again. He's sitting in the car.

I haven't spotted the black man I'm told is his partner, and I'm not moving until I do. I like to know where possible enemies are before I move. It keeps me alive. He should be easy to spot. He's supposed to be huge.

I check my watch. I'm now five minutes late and I'm told he never waits. I must be interesting. He's waiting.

"He's getting pissed about waiting."

I whirl around, blades in hand, and am confronted with a massive chest and two blades. We immediately start fighting and I realize he's good. He's really fucking good. He's fast, he's brutal, and he's keeping me in check so I can't look for the lookouts.

I'm screwed.

I feel the knife in my back and the man, Tank, immediately stops and tucks his blades into his boots.

"You called this meeting," a voice hisses behind me. I swallow hard and turn. I'm surrounded.

_El Tigre _is standing, cold-eyed, looking at me.

"I normally don't wait."

"I like life. I was looking for your partner before I moved."

No change in expression. I look over at Santos and at the other black man. No expression on anyone's face. I look at _El Tigre_ again.

"You're a wanted man and so am I. I need an ally."

No change in expression. "I don't need allies."

"These enemies intend to screw your business and your woman."

"I don't have a woman." Interesting that he went there first.

"The white bounty hunter. It's known you have some kind of interest in her. She's under watch." I hate giving up my information, but I need help. _El Tigre_ is my only shot.

"Not mine."

"Fine. I doubt the cop will give a damn about her life, seeing as he fucked her as a teenager and left her with the fallout. She's fucking him and he's disrespected her, and she's too stupid to know better."

I could care less about the woman. Fuck her. She's a dumbass to date a man who's already disrespected her, but women are often not that bright.

Interesting that this is the first bit of information to get a reaction. "Explain."

I tell him what I've learned so far. The Italians talk too fucking much. The information was convoluted but I made sure to get it verified. _El Tigre's_ face is calm but his eyes are burning with rage.

"Put 'em away."

I slide the blades into my boots and walk inside the diner with him. He orders black coffee. I order nothing. I leave no fingerprints or DNA. I watch a lot of TV crime shows, trying to learn what **not** to do.

His men have disappeared, but I'm not foolish. I know they're close by, probably listening.

"What do you want?"

"Out. I want to bleed out."

"Why?"

"I don't believe anymore. I don't need them for what I'm doing."

"Which is?"

I smile. "I'm creative with a computer."

He sits back and looks at me. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I've hacked your entire network. That's how I know what your enemies are up to. Your computer guy, Silvio, is shit. He has no idea how many times I've slipped in and out. If I can get in while I piss every morning, your enemies can too."

Cold face. "And you can prove this?"

I write 'General Conyers' on a napkin. "He has three men slipping in and out of your system daily. I did you a favor and put a block up against your most personal information. He has men working around the clock to get around it. You declined one of his contracts, one for you and Santos. He's pissed and he wants leverage."

I'm watching. Nothing, but the eyes are burning black fury.

"I change the keys on that block daily. That's why you need an ally, someone who knows what the fuck he's doing. Silvio is good, if you were doing things five years ago. He's out of date. I'm not."

"If I decline your favor?"

I shrug. "I'll keep the block going. You need help. You'll be successful. I'd like to see one of us make it. But I'm getting out and I'm serious about it. I'd like your help but if you won't help, I'll make a mistake. I know it. The more I learn, the more I realize I could make a small mistake that'll sink me."

"What do you need?"

I look at him, all pretenses gone. "Protection for my mother and sisters. That's all. Keep them out of the line of fire. My mistake was getting in. I don't want them to pay the penalty for me getting out."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

I watch Hector Gutierrez walk out and I signal Tank. He drives up to the door. I climb in and we head off to our temporary office.

"What do you think?"

"Hire him," Tank says quickly.

I look over. Tank's serious. "I get the feeling he's being absolutely truthful."

"I agree. Loyalty is supreme with him. I might stand at your back, but he would be your Luca Brasi if anything happened to me. He would be Luca Brasi to us all."

I call Les. Les and Bobby are in a separate car. "What do you think?"

"Hire him. All info I have says Kevin has him over a barrel, but I don't know why."

"He's gay," Bobby says. Tank and I stare at the phone.

"How do you know?"

"He's attracted to you."

"Oh hell no!" Les says and we all laugh. "That won't fly."

"He's attracted to Ranger but not a lot. I'd say Les was closer to his type, but not quite. Calm down. He won't step to you. He's lived in the closet for so long that he'd make sure the interest was reciprocal before he moved."

That makes all my info click together. Homosexuality is a killable offense. If he really wants to move on with his life, he'll have to get out.

"I'm hiring him."

And General Conyers and I are going to have an unpleasant (for him) chat.

* * *

**Hector's POV**

_El Tigre_ asks me to come to his building on Haywood Street. I arrive, early, but he and his partners are already waiting.

"Gutierrez." They nod at me. I nod back.

"Brown." The well-dressed black guy. He even smells expensive. He has a manicure and soft looking hands. So why am I thinking that, physically, he's the most dangerous?

"Santos."

"I remember you."

Santos smiles. I have to remember not to respond. He's not my type but he could be if he dropped 50 pounds. "Why?"

"You loved the Ferris Wheel at Great Adventures as a kid. You talked about it endlessly. You drove me crazy talking about it one summer. I was too poor to go and, when I had enough money to go, I pissed myself in fear."

They all laugh. Santos bumps my fist.

"LaPierre," _El Tigre_ says, a small smile on his face.

I snort. He stares at me. "Call me by my first name and you're a dead man."

I nod. "Agreed."

Santos whistles. "Fuck! What do you not know about us?"

"I'm still trying to figure out why you watch porno when I've seen you operate in a club. Casanova is a rank amateur compared to you."

The guys laugh again. _El Tigre_ grins. "Dangerous."

I nod. "I like to know but I keep my mouth shut."

"We'll see." He waves for me to follow him and I'm quickly surrounded. I'm nervous but trying to hide it. We walk to the 2nd floor. It's a gym, or it will be.

"Here's the deal. We'll hire you as a regular RangeMan." I'm stunned by the offer and I nod. "You'll undergo our training. By the time we're done, you'll be able to take on anything. In return, fix the system. You live through bleeding out, we'll talk about permanent responsibilities. Deal?"

I nod. I have my ally. I have to go to Mass ASAP.

* * *

Ranger (as I'm now allowed to call him) was not joking about the training. I'm pretty much living with him and Tank, as I'm allowed to address him, 24-7. I'm fixing their network in two hour spurts and within a week, I have it tightened to a point that traffic in and out doesn't happen without me knowing everything.

Silvio still hasn't realized I'm in his system. Ranger is pissed. I think I have Silvio's job when this is over.

Twelve hours a day finds me on the mats or in training with the Core Team, as they call themselves.

Tank has me in the gun range. I wasn't much of a gunman in the gang and it showed quickly. I quickly find myself with a legitimate gun permit. I'm learning to aim and shoot pistols, semi-automatics, automatics, and rifles. Tank doesn't give up until it's second nature to me. He also serves as the man I'm tested against on the mats.

This fucker has a nine inches and 100 pounds on me. I think it's unfair but Bobby is undeterred.

Bobby takes on training me in hand to hand combat. It's slow going. I'm deadly with my blades, a remnant of karate classes as a kid, but Bobby takes it to another level. He's a black belt in karate and he also starts training me in Krav Maga. He doesn't allow slouching, as I quickly learn, so I apply myself.

"Why Krav Maga?" We're dripping sweat and breathing hard. Training for the day is over and I'm curious.

"You're not exactly small, but at 5'9", you need to be able to disable an opponent and get away in all situations." He looks at me. "You aren't violent. You could be, but you believe in the One True Faith, correct?"

I know he's Baptist, so I'm surprised, and grateful, that he refers to my faith in the proper way. "Yes."

"So killing will not be your first response. I'm training you to take men down, painfully. Ranger will train you to kill."

He leaves and I wonder what the cost will be to get out. Will I lose my soul for my childish foolishness?

Les gives me military tactics training. I'm not sure why I'll need this, but I find it interesting. Next thing I know we're buying books on classic battles, like Gettysburg, the Battle of Cowpens, the Battle of Thermopylae, and Austerlitz; I quickly learn that any battle where the odds are impossible and success is a result of a ruse ranks high in Les's book.

I learn to appreciate these tactics and I buy and read some of his favorites. I like what I read and now I understand why Les is underestimated by all. He appears to be a playboy, a good-time guy. Until the blade is at your throat and you're pissing yourself. He's not to be underestimated.

I also understand why he and Bobby are partners. They are both overlooked and ignored in favor of Ranger and Tank but they aren't secondary. They are true partners and they are, as a partnership, both equal and opposite to Ranger and Tank. They are outgoing and gregarious in opposition to Ranger's and Tank's aura of silent menace. They appear to be silly and frivolous but if I were in a gun fight, I would be right in the middle of all of them. I would be protecting Ranger's back with Tank but doing my best to distract anyone from watching Les and Bobby as they flank and open fire.

I understand this partnership. Everyone has a role. They're ride or die for each other.

* * *

Ranger's lessons are hardest.

He teaches me patience. I'm not patient, as a rule. I'm ready to move, strike, go. I'm about action. Ranger lifts an eyebrow (I learned how to do that quickly) and tells me not to move.

Every time I flinch or move, he adds 20 minutes. My ass is numbing and I'm getting sleepy. This sucks.

"More battles are lost through impatience than bad tactics. 'It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience.'"

"Ceasar."

I get a small nod. "I see you're paying attention to Les. 'Beware the fury of a patient man.'" He looks at me and I shake my head. "John Dryden. Philosopher."

New name to research.

I learn to sit and wait. As a RangeMan, I do surveillance with Ranger and it teaches me the value of this virtue. I learn to sit still and wait for my opponent to show himself. Takedowns are easier when I'm patient. Injuries and collateral damage are less when I wait.

I see the value in this. Never rush in headlong. Study your enemy. Know his movements. I did well in the meeting with him. I gained his interest, but I wasn't ready, which allowed Tank to sneak up on me. If I'd really done my research, I would have ignored the restaurant once he arrived.

Tank was in his eyeline the entire time. Tank had me in his sight the entire time.

* * *

_Meekness: Uncommon patience in planning a revenge that is worthwhile.—Ambrose Bierce_

**Six months earlier**

Tomas and I are over. My first relationship with another man and we can't sustain. This is a killable offense and we've been caught. Kevin is blackmailing us both and making a play to take over. I tell Tomas I'm getting out. I'm ready. That catches him off guard but he nods. He'll make his own plans. I tell him to be gone by the time I announce.

I expect a bloodbath.

"Those are our brothers," Tomas says.

"And Kevin is prepared to turn them all against us. You leave, I'm getting out. If we are meant for each other, we'll see each other again."

The night is tender and gentle but we both know this is it. Once I'm out, I'll be considered dead to all _Reyes_. I'm prepared for this. I've wanted out for a long time.

I announce I want to bleed out at the next meeting. Kevin is furious because this poses a dilemma. I'm the gang's highest earner. I'm brilliant at forgery and money laundering. The last thing they want is me to take my talents somewhere else.

That's what they think. That I simply want to report to another Inca because I hate the Don.

I hate the Don because he's blackmailing me over my relationship with the Inca. The shit is very personal and Tomas doesn't have the balls to put his Don, Kevin, in check. I'm the one risking my neck in this affair. I'm done. I thought I loved Tomas, but I'm not willing to put my life in jeopardy. I'm not willing to die.

* * *

The time is set and I show, unarmed as I promised. I'm prepared for this.

I'm stunned to see Ranger show. It's known he's inactive and he says nothing to anyone but stands for me. New dilemma for my soon-to-be-former brothers. They know he's armed, so if anyone gets any funny ideas, it'll be a bloodbath.

Everything is kept fair. I take down 15 attackers, a quarter of the gang, the best fighters. I'm bleeding, but the training from Bobby means I'm standing, victorious, at the end. I walk out with my life.

Ranger and I climb into the SUV. He looks at me.

"That's not over."

Startled, I look at him. He nods.

"You're too important to get away. Tomas bled into Newark and became the Don up there." Ranger is silent for a few moments. "He's proposed to a friend of his sister."

I slump in the seat. I will not cry. We're over anyway.

He's leaving me to fight for my own life. I had hoped . . .

* * *

The first strike is against my mother's apartment but no one is harmed. My mother and sisters moved out a month ago, after Ranger and I convinced them to move to a safer area. I told my mother I was finally getting out and, if I lived through it, Ranger had offered me a legitimate job in his company.

For the first time in years, my mother looked at me with pride on her face. I was no longer her embarrassing gay gangbanging son. Perhaps, if she was very lucky, I'd given up my gay fantasies.

I want to tell her to keep hoping. I slept with a woman as a teenager. Nothing in the encounter held my attention. I faked the end. The girl tried to pretend she was pregnant with my child, but considering I wore condoms and I didn't come in her, that bit of blackmail ended quickly. The kid was Kevin's. I'd get mad, but at the time he had the humiliation of being joked on for getting my sloppy seconds.

They firebomb the apartment. Ranger called me ten minutes beforehand and told me to clear out. I slide down the fire escape with my duffel and run two miles to RangeMan. Les meets me.

"Welcome back."

I nod, wheezing. "Thanks."

"You know what you'll have to do."

I nod. I'm ready.

Strike two is an attempt against my sister's new apartment. I make it just in time to divert their attention from her, but she's scared and angry.

"You led them to me!"

"I led them away from you, Alexa! I didn't know they'd show here."

Alexa is angry and will not be moved. "We'll all die for your gang shit! We didn't sign up for this! Papa would find you an embarrassment to our family and our name."

I take a step back, silent. I loved Papa. I don't think he'd hate me. Alexa covers her mouth and looks stricken.

"Oh, oh Hector—"

"You're angry because you were nearly killed. I understand. I'll take care of it. But never mention Papa to me again."

I leave with a hole in my heart that hasn't quite healed yet, but I take care of the 'problem'.

Permanently.

* * *

For the first time in my life, I'm wishing the white girl bounty hunter would blow some shit up and get my actions off the news. I've seen her. I see what Ranger finds so interesting about her. She's like a kitten, all cute and curious, but ferocious. She gets her teeth in something and she doesn't let go.

I wonder why Ranger doesn't train her. She'd be brilliant with some training.

"Hector?"

"Nikki?"

Unrelenting sobbing. It takes a few minutes but I get the gist. Mauricio, the idiot I warned her off, knocked her up and is pretending the kid's not his. I'm not pleased.

"Nikki, _querida_, calm yourself. I'll be there soon."

I ask Ranger for a temporary transfer. He immediately approves.

"I'd like you to take a look at Atlanta and Miami anyway. Silvio is suggesting more servers in Miami."

"No."

Eyebrow from Ranger.

"It's stupid to have a server farm in Miami. Hurricane Alley. The city floods every year. It's thought that Miami will be entirely underwater in a few decades. Let's avoid the heartache now. Let me examine Atlanta with an eye to rebuilding the server farm there. If the location is good and we can attract decent staff, move it there."

Ranger stares at me then nods. I stand to leave.

"By the way, the announcement will go out today. You're the new CIO. Congrats." I'm shocked but Ranger smiles. "You earned it. Silvio never once caught you slipping in and out of our system. I told him today. He's moving back to Miami."

I leave with a smile on my face.

* * *

**Hector's POV—Six months later**

This is my first legitimate, paying job and it pays really fucking well. Ranger gave me my guidelines: I'm the CIO. All tech is mine to control and administer. I'm in the leadership, at an XO level, and I'm a manager. I have at least two men at each branch, but whatever I think I need, I need to let him know. They're searching for a partner for me.

That's where I stopped him. No partner. I don't trust anyone that much yet, aside from the Leadership Core, and I'm not breaking up their partnership. Ranger stares at me then nods. I'm getting a dispensation. I'll be the only man in the company without a partner.

I'm surprised that Ranger put me in charge of the entire network, but he said it was mine to do as I will.

Famous last words.

I stopped in Miami for three months, checking our system. First thing I did was put up an industrial strength firewall, set up proxies, and put up the correct protections for RangeMan to operate as a true black-ops company. General Conyers has been directed to carefully created information that would lead him to believe that RangeMan in failing. He's getting arrogant in his demands to Ranger. Ranger enjoys fucking with him every time he calls.

I immediately perform a skills assessment of every man in tech. I remove four men from the group and ask Ranger for permission to hire. I get it and hire six really smart guys and base them in Atlanta. They get started rebuilding the system the way **I** want it to operate. I have plans for company-wide initiatives, but for right now, I'm focused on getting the system locked down tight, getting the right tech for our current jobs, and ensuring every man understands that when I say 'encrypt', that's an order, not a suggestion.

The men in Miami are arrogant assholes. They believe that because this is home office that makes them better than the rest of the offices. They quickly learn that gay jokes aren't tolerated around me and calling something 'gay' because you can't think of an appropriate insult will get you sliced if **I** hear it. I can't wait to leave. I actually like the man in charge, Armando. He's a good man but he has to strengthen his backbone. Consensus is not always the way to manage. He doesn't like to fight and something about that bothers me.

Ranger is here for this meeting with Armando. I sent him my recommendations and he was amused.

"It's not his body you're after, right?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know damn well Danny's not my type. Too muscular." Which is a damn shame. For some reason, of all Ranger's XOs, he's the one I like most. He's loyal and truthful.

He laughed and agreed to move the servers to Atlanta. Now to tell the Miami men, including Silvio.

"I've decided to move the servers and all equipment to Atlanta," Ranger announces.

The stunned faces are amusing. Mando leans forward. "Why?"

"This is Hurricane Alley. The entire damn city floods every year. Our entire network is at risk being located here. I agree with the assessment of our CIO."

Mando glances at me and nods. Silvio is embarrassed and angry. "The staff?"

"We'll keep two men in IT here. If the rest want to remain in IT, they'll move to Atlanta," I announce. In other words, Silvio and Raphael can keep their jobs but the arrogant fucker that just tried to make a play for my job? Not a fucking chance. He should be grateful I'm not taking him to the mats.

* * *

I'm in the hospital room. Mauricio should be here, but I can't find him. A first.

Fine. Let him miss this moment in his son's life. No, my son. I'm here. He's mine.

Nikki has been in labor for six hours. She looks exhausted but I'm feeding her ice chips and rubbing her feet. The nurses all think my behavior is cute. I'm the ideal boyfriend. I scowl at Nikki every time someone says that.

Cute.

I'm not cute. I'm deadly! I'm the _Asesino_, according to Ranger. I'm a legend! I'm ruthless, deadly, not to be fucked with.

I'm . . . queasy.

That's a lot of blood and an area of a woman's body I have absolutely no interest in, but I'm not leaving. This is an important moment.

My son finally slips from Nikki, his nose and mouth are cleared (good, no butt slapping), and the doctor turns to me. "Cut the cord?"

Nikki smiles. "Go for it, Hec." So I do. I cut the cord and watch my son's red and slippery body being rubbed vigorously (be careful! He's only seconds old.). He gives his first strong healthy cry, his tiny arms waving. I grin, tears on my face, and watch as they place him on his mother's belly.

I'm curious about this little boy. Who is he? Who will he be? What can I teach him? Will Nikki allow me to stay close to him?

I follow the nurses over to the bassinet. They weigh him (8 lbs even! My big man!), measure him (21 inches. Good. He'll be taller than his _Tío_), and ink his feet for ink prints. He's cleaned and given to Nikki, who attempts to put him to breast. He latches on quickly and eats his first hearty meal.

I text Ranger. _I'm an uncle._

_Were you there?_

_Yes._

_Then you're a father, not an uncle. He will always be yours and you'll never forget that moment. I envy you this time in his life._

I look at my son, Mijo, and smile.

Right. He's mine.

* * *

I bundle Nikki and my son into my car the next evening and drive back to Nikki's new apartment very carefully. Atlanta drivers honk and flip me off, but I have precious cargo in the back seat. We pull up to her apartment and Bobby is waiting outside. He's here to see his family, so to see him here is surprising.

"Nikki, this is Bobby Brown."

Bobby grins. "Congratulations. Need some help?"

She smiles nervously. "Please." He helps her get out of the car then encourages her to lean on him for support. I smile and carefully gather Mijo. Les exits Nikki's apartment (how did he get in? I thought I'd secured it well!) and grabs the baby bags and Nikki's hospital bag from the car.

Nikki's gasp has me wondering what happened. I step in and realize, yet again, that I've joined a brotherhood deeper than anything I experienced as a _Reyes_.

Les and Bobby painted Mijo's baby room a pretty pale shade of blue, assembled the crib, and set up his nursery. Everything's there, including a glider/rocker for Nikki (from Tank), a handwoven blanket, christening gown, swaddling clothes, pretty much every linen item (from Bobby) and a Diaper Genie and bottle warmer (from Les). Ranger's gift? A deluxe travel car seat/stroller. The joint gift? A housekeeper for the next year.

I smile but I know it's shaky. The guys ignore me in favor of looking at my son, giving me a chance to pull myself together. Nikki doesn't bother. She's crying silent tears and Les smiles and hugs her. "He's a beautiful boy, but tell me, Hector Manuel? You couldn't think of any other name? I mean, Lester Alejandro was a good choice."

Bobby snorts. "Robert Emmanuel is better."

"You hate your middle name."

"Still better than Lester. Or Pierre Francois."

"Man, Mrs. Carol Jean really did overdo the French theme on that name, huh?"

"Family names, which makes you wonder why she switched to Wilma for the next one."

Nikki's laughing now. They're being idiots. Thank god. I can go cry in peace.

* * *

It's a long six months. Nikki moves with me to New Jersey for three months while I fight the accusations of mass murder. Hey, it was **not **mass murder. A few lived. I lived. Self-defense, assholes. The police are clearly confused. Doting daddy or cold-blooded murderer? I'm **not** a murderer. I killed no one unless they came after me. Then all bets were off.

OK, so maybe I took a little more pleasure in Kevin's death. Hold my sex life over me, huh? It was never any of your business, _pendejo._

Ranger tells me the 'rumors' made it up and down the East Coast and my legend is solid. Twenty six murders, not a single arrest? Everyone wants to know how I did it. I'm a computer geek. He negotiated my freedom. I'll stay out of _Reyes_ politics and give them the information on my old rackets. In exchange, they'll call off the blast on me.

Ranger, Tank, Bobby and Lester are my true brothers and they know it. Tomas? I can't believe I was ever involved with him. He married a woman to kill any rumors about himself. She has to be miserable, married to a liar suspected of being gay.

No honor.

* * *

Mijo's not a happy baby. I don't know what colic is, but I know it doesn't make him happy. This isn't a threat I can fight with a gun or knife. I do lots of research on colic, learn nothing of help, and realize that I'm in for the long haul. It takes three months before the colic disappears.

The doctors need to find a cure for that fast. I love Mijo but I was ready to scream too.

The way Mijo smiles when he sees me make the police harassment worth it. The way he watches me makes me smile. His interest in his feet amuses me and everything goes in his mouth. I'm grateful for the housekeeper. I wipe almost everything that makes it anywhere near Mijo but he still manages to get things inside his mouth.

I talk baby talk when no one's around. I sing silly songs and point out Curious George and Handy Manny. I'm not sure about Dora the Explorer or Blue's Clues.

I learn to despise Elmo.

I notice there's too much violence on TV and wonder how I'll explain my past when the time comes. I'll never lie to my son. I hope I've mastered the art of misdirection by then. My son is a smart little boy, I can tell. He watches everything. He watches my mouth as if he's desperate to steal the words from my lips. He babbles back at us at ten weeks which, according to Nikki's child development books, is very early. He responds to 'Mijo' and 'Manny' at four months.

Nikki grins the first time he says 'maa maa'. I'm proud but annoyed. Hey Mijo, I'm the one here with you all day! Say '_tío'._ A week later I place him in his playpen before going to the bathroom and hear 'dadadadadada'. I run right back into the room and he stops and grins. I raise an eyebrow, tip off out of sight, and he does it again. I walk back in and he stops. I grin. Mijo is a smart little boy and he's teasing me.

I realize, a few weeks later, that my son has trained me. I tell Ranger and he jokes that the moment Mijo is potty trained he can become a RangeMan. Mijo had me trained faster than he did.

Nikki tells me the first smile was just gas. And? I smile after a good fart too. The pressure's gone. Nikki laughs at me but I don't care. I'm happy to see everything working out. He learns to roll over and gives me a small heart attack. I put him inside a pillow fort and he whines for freedom. I laugh and move him out, watching him like a hawk. Nikki is able to sleep and study, unless she has to feed him. She doesn't have to worry about daycare because Tio Hector will **always** take Mijo. I can work from anywhere and I don't need a lot of sleep.

I love fatherhood. What man could deny himself the joy of this?

Mauricio decides to come see his son when Mijo is seven months. I answer the door and stick a blade near his throat.

"Where have you been?" I hiss. He's interrupting 'Hide and Go Seek' for today and I can hear Mijo getting upset that I've disappeared.

"Busy," he replies nervously.

"Where?" My son is not happy. _Tío_ should have reappeared by now.

"Jail. Got picked up the day he was born."

Useless fuck. I hope, for Nikki's sake, he was more competent between the sheets than he is as a banger. I let him in and _Mijo_ winds down from his cry and stares at the new person. A new face. This is interesting.

Mauricio is useless as a father. He stands on the other side of the room looking at his son. I point to the couch, place _Mijo_ in his arms carefully, and take a few moments to do a little cleaning. I look over and decide to cut Mauricio some slack. He is enthralled by _Mijo_, smiling at him and stroking his chin. _Mijo_ is smiling and waving his hands in his father's face. He looks at me.

"He looks like me."

I nod. "Can't deny it. So don't. Participate in his life. You are his daddy. I am _tío_."

"Nikki hates me."

"Nikki hates that you haven't been here. Be here. Apologize for missing his birth and talk to her. Be daddy." I draw a blade and let it hang loosely at my side. Mauricio is frightened. "I am _tío_. **You** are daddy. He needs support. Make absolutely certain you discuss that with Nikki. I expect him to have his father's support. If not your actual presence then you should at least provide a check."

* * *

Mijo is learning to walk when Ranger calls. I put him in his playpen (he's begun to despise it) and answer the phone.

"I need a favor ."

"When and where?"

"As soon as possible. Here in Trenton."

"Name?"

"Abruzzi."

* * *

I travel back to Trenton and get the info. Eddie Abruzzi is obsessed with Stephanie. He will not stop until she's dead because she's looking for a child who has something of his. I hate Abruzzi already. He's stalking Stephanie **and** an innocent child? Please tell me I'm allowed to kill him. I'll make an exception just for him.

Ranger's sure that if the child has this medal, she doesn't know it. Regardless, he 'owned' Benito Ramirez, and Stephanie's murder of the man meant Abruzzi's interest is deep and personal. He has to be stopped, but the Morelli asshole (I hate him. I wish he'd drop my case and let me live my life in peace) is watching Ranger closely. They're in competition for Stephanie. If he actually kills Abruzzi without having an iron-clad alibi, Morelli will not rest until he's behind bars.

Besides, Ranger's running a surveillance operation for the government right now. This thing with Abruzzi is distracting him from a job but he can't help himself. He goes when she calls him. Every time. Les is _dying_ to tease him. Tank is, subtly. Bobby is laughing his ass off at all of it.

I want to tell Ranger he waited too long. He allowed an unworthy competitor to gain a toehold in his space. He'd chide me if it were me. So I tell him.

He smiles, faintly. "I've evened the odds."

I wonder what that means. His phone rings. It's Stephanie, calling to take Ranger up on his offer of a security system. I listen to the conversation, something to do with a rabbit suit. Ranger looks at me, eyebrow raised

"I'll send Hector."

"Hector scares the hell out of me," she says. I grin. Good.

"Yeah, me too," Ranger says, smiling. I chuckle. The look on his face says he hated admitting that in front of me but, clearly, he doesn't lie to her. "But he hasn't killed anybody in over a year now. And he's gay. You're probably safe." _**Click**_**.**

I lean back and laugh my ass off. "You owe me."

Ranger grins. "I'm sure you'll find a way to make me suffer. Just be fair. Make sure I can start my car tomorrow."

* * *

I finally 'meet' Stephanie and I like her almost immediately.

And I understand what he means by 'evened the odds'. He's slept with her and he's fallen for her. He's in love with her. He'll do anything for her. I add her to my list of people to protect with my life at that moment.

"_I installed a steel fire door and a floor bolt is in. The security is in. It won't sound an alarm, since there are so many old people here, but it will tell her if someone's attempted to breach her apartment. Are you sure you don't want me to install more?"_

"_Positive. She'll scream if I do. Besides, I want her to come to me. I'm not fighting The Cop."_

"_I hope you have a battle plan, bro."_ I stare at her. She's completely clueless. _"She's worthy of you. She'll keep you on your toes."_

"_Too far."_

I snort. _"Good luck. Your emotions are written on your face._" He schools his face immediately and I resist the urge to grin. I hand him the remote and leave.

* * *

Her car has been firebombed and the remote was inside. This is ridiculous.

I immediately go to her apartment and check. Clean. I program a new remote and wait.

Ranger is holding her hand when they appear. Holding hands? I want to grin but I keep my face blank. She's still scared of me. The teardrops concern her. I'm amused. I'm tempted to tell her I don't kill indiscriminately.

Just when my life, or the lives of those I love, are at stake.

Two hours later, we return. She can't get in.

"What's wrong?" Ranger asks.

"The door won't open," she replies.

"Probably a programming glitch." The hell it is! He knows me better. "Do you have the keypad?"

She hands him the keypad and it takes everything I have not to laugh. She shot the shit out of it. Ranger and I look at it, each other, and raise an eyebrow. We're laughing our asses off about this later.

"I think I see the problem," Ranger says. "Someone's shot the shit out of this keypad." He turns it over in his hand. "At least you were able to hit it. Nice to know the target practice paid off."

Ranger humor. _Hermano_, please stop. I'm gonna piss myself laughing later. I open the door and remove the sensors. She doesn't want them. She'll chance it.

Now, this is behavior I don't understand. Instead of asking for a quick lesson on the remote, she'd rather put her life at risk. She might not be the right woman for Ranger. She cares little for her own life. She knows she has a psycho after her and she'd rather put herself in danger. Nope. I change my mind. Ranger needs a different woman, not her.

We leave. Once in the truck Ranger looks at me and we laugh.

"First fucking time she uses the goddamn gun and it's to shoot the fucking remote. She routinely misses people but a 2" square remote she hits with no problem."

I sober. "Funny but disturbing." Ranger's smile drops. "She cares little for her own life."

"Which is why she has all of me that I can give her right now."

* * *

Abruzzi stuck a hot poker on Stephanie's arm.

Ranger told him to back off. Abruzzi raised the stakes by kidnapping her. When she pulled into Pino's, with her sister, duct-taped and burned, I was ready to kill then and there.

We're ending the war now.

Les takes the difficult assignment. He'll stay visible all night and participate in a takedown at a local bar, masquerading as Ranger. With makeup, the right padding and a good wig, he'll pass easily and he does. I almost miss the markers that distinguish the cousins. Tank will remain at his back, another false signal that will encourage anyone looking to believe that's Ranger.

Ranger and I will kill.

I check with Bobby. I need a way to kill him that won't leave a mark.

"Air embolism."

Bobby shows me how this works. A syringe filled with air, injected into a vein, will cause a forced heart attack. The only issue is finding a vein that will be overlooked. Bobby smiles.

"Don't bother. You know how to find the jugular?" I nod. "Then the trick is finding a small needle." He rummages around and eventually produces a tiny needle. "Insulin needles. It holds 70mL. You only need 60mL for your task." He fills it with air, recaps it, and passes it to me.

Good. I'll wait until he goes to sleep.

'Clinton', 'Nixon', and the Bag Man are easy. They aren't personal. We shoot the shit out of them and make it look like they turned on each other. We don't care about their bodies but we do ensure the guns are theirs. No stray bullets in the encounter. Without Abruzzi there to direct them, they're shit.

Meanwhile, Ram has eyes on Abruzzi. He beeps me when Abruzzi enters his home. I head to his house and start cracking his security. Fifteen minutes later, he's defenseless. I slip on the gloves, exercise caution, and slip through the house. I find his bedroom, Ranger right behind me. Good, he looks peaceful. I put the cameras on a loop and erase the last few minutes that reveal us sneaking in. Idiot. The video is all local. He should have uploaded to an offline site for maximum protection.

"Wakey wakey."

His eyes open and he reaches for the gun that's no longer within reach. Ranger and I are both pointing guns at him.

"This is how this is going to go. You are going to write a very penitent suicide note. We'll give you an honorable exit. Or no one will ever find your body." Ranger looks slightly amused.

"You are fools," he snorts. "Power is my mistress. I have worked too hard at her conquest to allow anyone to take her away from me."

I smile. "Napoleon. Here's a new one for you: 'It requires more courage to suffer than to die'." My smile is cold and his smile drops. "Feeling courageous?"

I punctuate this by putting the gun away and drawing my blades. Ranger passes him a piece of paper and a pen. He swallows hard, made difficult by the fact that my blade is at his throat, and writes the note. He keeps glancing at the door.

"No one is coming. Clinton, Nixon, and Bag Boy are dead. Your security company thinks you're locked in tight. And the cameras are on a loop." Ranger removes the syringe, slips it into his jugular, and depresses the plunger. Ten minutes later, I'm certain he's dead. Ranger checks the femoral. Dead.

We check the impulse to beat the shit out of him.

Ranger slips all the medals and medallions into a trash bag. He has a 'Stephanie Fund' and we're pleased Abruzzi has decided to donate. We dress Abruzzi in his usual suit and I drive over to the farmer's market. I'm smaller and less noticeable. I slip from the car, run a few blocks to Ranger's Porsche, and we head back to the building.

"You're leaving her with the competition?"

"She needs comfort. What can I give her?"

Comfort, _hermano_. You can comfort too.

* * *

This is the pattern to my interactions with Stephanie. Since she matters to Ranger, I watch her. I was right in calling her a kitten. All cute and curious, but no sense of self-preservation. But she doesn't give up. I see that clearly and I admire it. No training, no background, but great instincts. And a positive attitude. I see why Ranger is attracted to her. She exudes life and fun and the endless possibilities of joy. It takes a lot to get her down.

When she runs a distraction, I find myself watching everyone in the room for threats. It's not really necessary. She's eye-catching. She's beautiful and you just want to be in her presence. When things go wrong, she's quick to put herself in danger for the men, to protect them, to give Ranger time to run an alternate plan. I see why the men love her. I start thinking of her as a guardian angel, waking the men's hearts up and causing life to be lighter and brighter in the RangeMan building.

Still, the problem remains: she cares little for her life. Ranger is clearly in love but he's not offering her anything until she grows up and gets serious about her life. This I understand. What I don't understand is why he won't put himself out there. Give her a reason to want you. Give her some hope and show more faith in her. She does damn near anything he wants when he asks. Does he really think she's wouldn't try for him? Or does he really believe The Cop is better for her?

I'm confused.

He barely visits his on-off in Miami anymore, preferring to spend time in Stephanie's company. Even Jeanne Ellen is getting the cold shoulder, which I'm very glad about. The first time she asked him if he intended to upgrade his personnel, while glancing at me covertly, was the last time she ever saw his bed. He keeps track of her now merely because she's operating in RangeMan territory and she occasionally asks favors, which he rarely grants. She can't work them off the way she used to anymore and she has nothing else that he wants.

She's attempting to capture Les's attention but she better not. Les is vicious when it comes to women who insult the personal brotherhood. He'd screw her, allow her no pleasure, and turn her out the next day with no sweet words. Only his innate respect for women is keeping him from treating her like a whore.

I continue to watch this back and forth Stephanie has with The Cop. I don't understand it. She doesn't love him so why does she continue to go back? Familiarity? Geez. No guts, no glory, Plum. In life and in love. Same for you, Ranger. She's clearly your woman. Claim her before it's too late.

Then she breaks her leg.

I'm ready to give up on her ever getting it when Les shows up at my door.

"Hector? We have a favor to ask of you."

"Yes?" I'm not putting Dolby on your stereo system. I can't watch hetero porno in surround sound ever again. The guy's ass doesn't get enough screen time to make up for having to watch.

"We'd like you to partner Stephanie." No. No fucking way. I like her but I like living more. My thoughts are written on my face when Les smiles. "Exactly. That's why we want you to partner her. Your life will always be foremost in your mind. You can teach her to take her life seriously."

"You want me to teach her to take herself seriously?" I raise an eyebrow.

Les closes the door and sits. "Steph's problem is that she lacks self-worth. She doesn't love herself. She's constantly looking for someone to love her, to validate her. Because she doesn't love herself, she gives herself, and her life, no value."

"That's a fundamental problem," I point out. "I can't teach her to love herself." Are they asking me to fix her Daddy issues? I'm Tío and my little boy is due a visit soon. I miss him.

Les smiles. "No you can't, but you can push her to succeed. As she gains small victories, all related to keeping herself safe, she'll start to value her life. She needs to know she's important and valuable even when her life's not in immediate danger. You value life and living. She'll have to start to take her life seriously in order to keep you alive."

"Why not Ranger?"

"Between us?" I nod. "He's too emotionally involved. He wants her to care about her life but he can't blur the lines. He doesn't have a clean way to do it that doesn't put a relationship between the two of them at risk."

"That makes **no** sense."

Les sighs. "If he's successful, all she'll ever remember is that he made her change in order to have a relationship with him. Regardless of whether or not it's for her, she'll always resent it. She wouldn't see it as Ranger giving a damn about her life and forcing her to do the same. She would see it as Ranger being just one more person who thought she was incompetent."

Les slumps in the chair and sighs deeply. I stare at my computer screen, wondering how to teach someone to love themselves.

"She wouldn't listen to Ranger," Les says quietly. "She doesn't listen to him now. She runs from his attempts to help. She'd fight him because she loves him and wants to be his equal and she's nowhere close to that right now. That's why we're taking advantage of this opportunity. She can be mad at me for manipulating her into this for the rest of my life as long as she doesn't resent Ranger."

I think about this in light of what I know about her and him. Les is right. After all, it's the reason I waffle on her being the right woman for him. She doesn't care about her life and Ranger has dangerous enemies. She's already been used once to draw him out. "So why not you? Or Tank? Or Bobby?"

"I'm bad for obvious reasons." Yeah, you want to sleep with her. I grin and Les laughs. "She sees Bobby as the man who wipes her tears and makes her feel better. She would be shocked if Bobby started putting her through the same grueling routine he put you through." True. Bobby has no patience for whining and excuses. He'd completely break her, emotionally. "Tank? Tank's in the same headspace as Bobby and it'll be even more personal to him. Her actions affect Ranger, which affects him. He doesn't have the patience for her right now either."

So I really am the only option.

"She won't fight you. You love her but you won't accept her excuses because it's your life and your rep at stake." Damn right! Les grins. "Plus, you're gay. Zip sexual interest between you two, so there'll be a true friendship, a true partnership. Ranger will trust you with his woman and Stephanie will know that anything you say to her won't have a sexual tinge to it. You can truly act as her friend and mentor."

I consider his words and agree.

Stephanie Plum is now my partner. I hope she's ready.

I refuse to die. Even for her. She's going to have to live, for me.

* * *

A/N: Several conversations taken **directly** from Hard Eight.


	4. I Leave the Burg

**A/N: One Shot prompt is a combination of ideas from Roscommon, emmme3, and shirleygirl. Thanks, ladies!**

**Begins after Holidays on Ice, Part II (Chapter 53)**

* * *

**I leave the Burg**

**Val's POV**

Albert has, apparently, lost his mind.

"You have to get a job, Val. We need more money."

I'm at the stove, making lunches for the girls to take for their first day of school. Albert is reviewing our finances. This is my childhood all over again and I'm proud we can give my girls this.

"I can't get a job, Snuggums." Albert looks up, tense. "Daycare isn't the right place for Lisa. She needs to be home with me, with her Mommy. The girls need someone to be here for them when they get out of school. And there are so many other things I do during the day. I don't have time."

"You have to, Val." Albert's face is set in that mulish look he gets when he thinks he's going to be stubborn. "As it is, we are barely making our bills. The heating bills this winter are going to kill us. If we're lucky, the snow will hold off until December."

"Snuggums," I begin gently, setting my spoon down. "You have to understand—"

"I have to understand that we have to pay our bills," Albert says in a burst. "I still have student loans from undergrad and law school. We have the household bills. We have the bills from this new baby. You have to get a job or we'll be homeless in three months."

I stare at Albert. He looks scared and panicky.

"Albert, we'll make it. We've always made it. But I'm a Mommy. My job is to be here for my children." I'm trying to soothe Albert but he still looks panicked.

"We are parents, Val, but we can't afford for you to be home right now. Not on my salary alone. Right now, we actually qualify for food stamps and you qualify for free medical care. That's how dire this is. I need your help."

I'm feeling panicky now. Usually by now Albert will give up the argument but he's digging in this time. "I had a job once, Albert, remember? I fried the bank's computer system. I'm not cut out for work." That's when you were chasing my sister around everywhere, remember? You couldn't see past her to me. "Mothers in the Burg don't work, Albert—"

"Then it's a good thing we don't live in the Burg, isn't it?"

I look at Albert in shock. I can't believe he just threw that in my face. One of my biggest disappointments is that we don't live in the Burg, close to my family. The Burg ideal is what I was raised to want. Men with stable jobs, mothers who were home for their children, and dinner on the table at six. It's the American Dream. Everyone wants that, including me. Marrying Albert was supposed to give me that all over again.

It's a blow to my pride that my sister is paying for the girls' gymnastics lessons. Daddy paid for my ballet lessons and Steph's gymnastics lessons. He didn't need help to do that.

"Albert—"

"Get a job, Val. Or we'll have to move in with my mother."

* * *

"I can't believe he's serious about this," I whine to Mommy. She's mixing baby cereal for Lisa, who is still crying. The doctor says there's nothing wrong with her, that maybe she's reacting to her environment. I can't determine what he means by that. The house is spotless. "He really meant it. If I don't have a job by the end of this month, he's telling our landlord that we're moving out and we're moving to **his** mother's!"

I hear Daddy grunt. I know he's pleased to hear that. Daddy will do anything to avoid having us in his house, blocking access to his bathroom.

"Well Valerie, you may have to get a job." I stare at Mommy in amazement. She nods. "If you two are feeling a pinch, you'll need to ease the pain. Perhaps you can find a part-time job and work for a little while. Your father and I will watch the girls."

I hear a groan from the living room.

"I don't know why you're surprised," Grandma says, frowning. "Albert needs to switch to a different field of law. He doesn't have the balls to be a litigator."

"What else is there?"

"I don't know, but he needs something that keeps him out of court. He's not good going head to head. Tell him to get a specialty that doesn't require him to be in court all the time. In the meantime"– Grandma stands up and pours a glass of wine–"you need to get a job."

"Why? Mommy never worked! You never worked!"

"Times were different then. Back then you could raise children on one salary and have money left over. Now you can't. Besides, Grandpa Harry was a union man, a steelworker. They made damn good money, but those jobs are gone."

"And your father was a federal employee at the Post Office. The Post Office is cutting back, but when your father worked there, the same applied. We could afford to raise you girls on your father's income," Mommy says, handing me the bowl of baby cereal.

I start feeding Lisa, tears running down my cheeks. "I want to do the same for my girls. I want them to have their mother at home."

"Why?" Grandma asks. "Hell, I hated being at home. I was bored out my skull. I would have loved to work."

Well, I like my life. I take care of my family, I do the errands, and I'm home whenever anyone needs me.

"I like my life, Grandma. I'm home whenever someone needs me."

"Get a job." We all look over at Daddy, who is leaning in the doorway.

"Daddy?"

"Your job, as a wife, is to help your husband. Takes a lot out of a man to admit to his wife he needs help providing for his family. Your husband has. Don't destroy his pride. Get a job."

Daddy picks up the newspaper and tucks it under his arm. He's headed for the bathroom.

Mommy, Grandma, and I look at each other in shock. Even Lisa's stopped crying to stare at her grandfather's departing back.

"That settles it," Mommy says quietly. "You'll get a job."

* * *

After that, the decisions are simple. Mommy will take Lisa during the day. Daddy will pick the girls up from school and keep them until Albert or I can pick them up. Mommy recommends I speak to Albert about changing his specialty and Grandma gets on the phone to work the Burg gossip vine to find me a job.

Mommy starts checking the classified ads in the newspaper once Daddy returns with it, and I write reminders to drop by the personal products plant and the button factory for applications. I have to write around the wet spots from my tears.

I'm going to be a working mom. This isn't right. Mommy never had to work. Grandma never had to work.

"Harry Drudge's CPA firm needs a secretary. $10.50 an hour, full time," Grandma says, pouring a glass of white wine. Mommy and I frown. It's just noon.

"I just need a part time job."

"Then you're gonna be looking at fast food, Valerie. People want you to be able to work a full time job these days."

Mommy is steadily circling things. "Rodgers and Fletcher's Furniture is looking for a sales associate. Salary is $55,000 to $80,000."

I perk up. I would make more than Albert with that. Maybe I can do that until Albert's law practice picks up.

"Hmm . . . cell phone retail store rep. Gas station attendant. That's too dangerous. Wood flooring sales. Shipping and receiving clerk but you aren't forklift certified. Teacher's aide, 5 hours a day $9.00 an hour—"

"Pass," Grandma says. "They'll eat that in taxes."

Mommy continues calling jobs until she's run through the classifieds. I now have 14 jobs to apply for and it's 2:30. Time to get home to meet the girls.

I strap Lisa into the car seat and Daddy is standing outside watching. I wave at him and start to get in when he walks over. He gazes at me for a moment before speaking.

"I don't like giving you girls advice, but I'm going to give you some now." My eyes widen and Daddy grimaces and nods. "First, you need to get child support from Steve. Ask your sister to find him. Her RangeMen should be able to locate him. Second, work for a while." My mouth drops and Daddy nods. "Get stable. If you don't, your girls will remember that you weren't willing to put them first."

Daddy steps back and I slide into the car and pull out.

I'm surprised I make it home. My eyes are blurry with tears.

* * *

It's a quiet night at our house. The girls do their homework and eat their dinner before taking their baths and heading off to bed. Lisa goes right to sleep.

Traitors. It's as if they all knew Albert was waiting to have this talk.

"I interviewed with a law firm in town to get into their litigation practice," he says, looking at our bank accounts. "I doubt I'll get the position. I've never won a case."

I'm still scrubbing pots. I'm hoping he won't ask.

"Did you look for a job?"

Damn. "Yes. I have 14 possibilities to follow up on."

He turns around and gives me a small smile. "Thank you."

I smile wanly. "Mommy has agreed to watch Lisa during the day and Daddy will pick the girls up from school. I dropped off applications to the button factory and the personal products plant and I have interviews tomorrow."

He nods. "I know this isn't what you wanted, Val, but it's just to get us over this hump. Just until we're back on our feet again." He grins big. "Besides, you might like working. Think of the accomplishment you'll feel at the end of a hard day's work, having solved problems and made money."

I'm trying not to burst into tears. He doesn't get it. My accomplishment is being home for my girls. I don't want to solve problems and make money. That's his job.

"Right," I reply, giving him a shaky smile. "Val takes on the world."

"Right," he echoes. "You may get so good at solving problems that I'll become a house husband and take care of the girls."

There's nothing he could have said to make me less interested in working. Albert's idea of cooking is microwaveable Hungry Man meals and Gefilte fish directly from the jar. Yech.

The next morning, I drop Lisa off at Mommy's and head to Rodger and Fletcher's Furniture. It's my preferred job. I'm greeted by a very polite saleswoman and directed to the office.

"Mrs. Kloughn?" A man, barely hiding the smirk, greets me.

"Yes, I'm Valerie Kloughn."

"I'm Andy Coston. Welcome to Rodger and Fletchers Furniture. We're looking forward to seeing if you are the right fit for our team."

I fill out massive amounts of paperwork. Afterwards, I'm taken on a tour of the sales floor. This place has nice furniture, including some pieces I'd love to buy if we had more room. Afterwards, Andy Coston meets with me to discuss my application.

"Mrs. Kloughn, you applied for two positions here, one for a sales associate and the other for customer service representative. Tell me why you'd like to work as a sales associate at Rodger and Fletchers Furniture."

Oh good grief. I think the answer 'Because my husband is making me get a job' will be inappropriate. So I try to think of a good answer.

"Um … well …I really like the furniture here." Mr. Coston looks at me as if to say 'Go on'. "It's high quality stuff. Real leather, solid wood, nice fabrics. It reminds me of all the furniture I had in my home in California. That was really expensive stuff. Restoration Hardware and some custom pieces." I'm still trying to think of stuff to say and the interviewer looks less impressed. "It's just nice furniture and I think I can sell it."

"Well, in reviewing your application, I'm concerned. You don't have much previous work experience." He lowers the paper and looks at me. "The position also requires you to be able to stand and move around for 8-10 hours." He smiles. "When are you due?"

How did he know? "I'm three months along . I'm due in February."

"Congratulations." He makes a mark on my application. "How are your computer skills?"

I smile. "Very good. I can type 60 words a minute."

He nods. "Well, thank you, Mrs. Kloughn, for your interest. We'll let you know." I rise and shake his hand and leave.

I didn't get the job. Thank god.

* * *

"Stephanie?"

"Hey, Val! What's wrong?"

I sniff. "Nothing's wrong. Why? Does something have to be wrong for me to call my little sister?"

"Generally, yes. Either something's wrong or you want something. So . . . what do you want?"

I resent that. Now I don't want to ask but . . . "I need help."

"OK."

"Do your RangeMen do pro-bono cases?"

"No, but tell me what you need and I may be able to get some volunteers."

"I need child support from Steve." I don't want anything from him but Albert insists.

"About time and Albert's right."

"What?"

"You said that out loud." I hear a loud exhale from Steph. "Look Val, you may not want anything from Steve and that's fine, but your daughters deserve to have their father support them," she says softly. "I'm surrounded by men here at RangeMan who take their position as fathers very seriously. Most of them would kill Steve on sight for not paying child support."

Really? I'm staring at my phone in shock. "Really?"

"Yes. Really. Nothing lower at RangeMan than a man who doesn't take care of his responsibilities, especially his kids. So you need us to find him?"

"Yes. We need the money and if Steve at least paid child support, that would help."

"I'm pretty sure I can get some volunteers to work on that. I'll let you know. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"OK." _Click_.

Mom's right. Steph's phone manners are atrocious now.

* * *

"Mrs. Kloughn? Oh jeez, that has to be a joke."

I stand. "I'm Mrs. Kloughn. K-L-O-U-G-H-N."

The woman blushes. "Sorry. Thought someone was playing a joke on me. Welcome to Harry Drudge and Associates. Come with me."

I follow her into a small windowless office. She has pictures of children and a dog on her bookshelf and the room is overrun with paper.

"I'm Madeline Rowle and I'm the head of Administration here at Drudge. I understand you are applying for the secretarial position." She peers at me over the paperwork, the end of her sentence coming out as more of a question than a statement, but I nod.

"Yes."

"You don't have any work experience."

"No."

"You don't have any education beyond high school."

"No."

She sighs heavily. "Then Mrs. Kloughn, why do you want to work here?"

"I need a job." She stares at me and I nod. "I have three children, I'm pregnant, and my husband is making me work."

She leans back in the seat and stares at me. "That was the worst answer I've ever heard." She snorts. "It was also the most honest one I've ever heard."

I smile wanly. "You have children." I nod at the pictures on the bookcase. "Would you rather work or be at home with them?"

She stares at me for a long moment before saying "Those are my nieces and nephews."

"Oh." I'm embarrassed. I sigh and stretch my legs. "I didn't realize. Anyway, I do just as much as any woman making a paycheck but I don't have a W-2 to show for it. I love being a stay-at-home mom and I don't think there's anything more important than raising your kids well. But my husband says he needs help, so I have to work. I know how to type. I know how to make coffee, answer phones, and be polite. I was a straight A student in school and I'm not stupid. I just need a job."

Again, Mrs. Rowle stares at me. Finally, she hands me a letter. "Find and correct all the mistakes in that letter."

I begin reviewing the letter. I find all the spelling mistakes and hand it back.

She shakes her head. "I said find all the mistakes. That includes grammar, spelling, punctuation, and layout." She puts the paper to the side and hands me a ledger. "Find all the mistakes in that ledger."

Again, I look for all the mathematical mistakes. I don't know accounting so I have no idea if there are any other mistakes. After carefully looking the ledger over I pass it back. The moment I look in her eyes I know I failed this interview.

Thank god. Maybe I still have a chance to convince Albert I'm not cut out for work.

* * *

I follow up on almost all of my job prospects but none work out. Perhaps I need a new interview technique, something a little less 'honest'. Albert is really starting to panic and I tell Mommy that he intends to tell our landlord that we're giving up the apartment. Daddy slips us some money to cover the bills and I pass it over to Albert.

He stares at it for at least 30 minutes before leaving the house. He doesn't return until dinner and he won't look at me.

"Snuggums?"

He shakes his head and sits at the table. I produce dinner, a perfectly roasted chicken, with green beans and creamed onions. Creamed onions give Albert gas, but this is one of my best meals and the girls love it. They love blowing their breath into the cat's face and watching him scrunch his face in disgust.

We eat in silence. The girls head back upstairs to watch TV and I scrape the dirty dishes and start a sink of hot water.

The money is still on the countertop.

"Snuggums?" He looks up. "You left the money." He goes back to reading his newspaper. I slip the money into my pocket and wash the dishes.

I have the usual bout of 'morning' sickness before bed. I brush my teeth and slip into my nightie. Albert is already in bed and asleep.

I wonder what's gotten into him.

* * *

Grandma's gotten into the wine and she's drinking a large glass of a questionable red. I'm hoping Mommy comes home soon. Grandma's barely functional these days. I wonder why Mommy hasn't put her in a home yet.

"He didn't take the money because he has his pride."

"Grandma . . ." Actually, I don't have much of a comeback to that. I'm looking at the $250 that Daddy gave me yesterday and wondering what to spend it on. The girls could use some new clothes. They're at gymnastics and Lisa is with Albert, visiting his mother.

I miss the allowance I had with Steve. He kept the money in the account and I could spend as much as I wanted on whatever was needed. Life was simple and easy. He provided and I kept the house. The way it's supposed to be.

Rat bastard. Divorced all because I refused to do butt stuff.

"You just left the money on the countertop?" I nod, still staring at the two $100 bills and the $50. Grandma snorts. "You didn't even have the sense to preserve his pride by sticking it into the pocket of his pants?"

"Why?"

Grandma gulps her wine and rolls her eyes. "Never mind. Pretend I said nothing. How's the job search?"

"Nothing worked out." I lean back and let out a breath. "The job I loved most didn't seem that interested once I admitted I was pregnant."

"Which job was that?"

I look at Grandma. "The furniture store."

"Good. The one where you'd make between $50K and $80K?"

"Yeah."

She has that scheming look on her face. "Thought so. Come on. Let's go get you a job."

"I don't want a job, Grandma. My job is to—"

"Your job is to get off your ass and help your husband support your girls!" Grandma says harshly. I stare at her, wide eyed. She looks angry. She pulls me up by my arms and shoves my purse into my arms. "You and Albert are having another baby. You already have three girls. You need to stop thinking that this is the 1950s and someone's gonna give you a prize for popping out babies. Well, as someone who lived through that, let me help you understand what it was **really** like.

It was not some Donna Reed fantasy. It was quiet volunteer work and Rubbermaid parties to make money on the side. It was constantly mending and hemming clothes to make sure your kids had what they needed. It was making a meal for $1.32 because food was cheap then, gas was pennies, and you could afford to live at home. It was giving up your job at the factory when the boys came home from Europe so they had jobs to go to. **That's** what being a stay at home mom was back then."

I swallow hard and sit. I haven't seen Grandma this mad since I admitted I lost (left) Steph during a trip to the beach. Mary Kate and I were sick of her and Mary Lou following us everywhere. By the time Steph and Mary Lou walked home, our dads had three search parties going to find them.

Steph and Mary Lou were coddled for the rest of the trip. Mary Kate and I were punished by being confined to the house. It's the only time I remember my father being so angry he wouldn't speak to me.

"The women in the Burg who laugh at you"–I look up sharply. Grandma nods–"oh yeah, they talk about you just like they talk about Stephanie." I pale. "Mary Kate is not your friend. She spreads the gossip about you just as fast as you spread it about her, so you two deserve each other. Anyway, those women pretend they don't work, but they do. The rest don't care. They're 'work at home' moms, and there's no shame in that. Mary Lou does the books for Lenny's plumbing business. She used to do them for the Oldsmobile dealership before it closed. Julie Wisneski, the PTA woman?" I nod. "Works for the Girl Scouts. Mary Kate? Sells Mary Kay, which is the only way I remember that."

Well, that explains why Mary Kate looks like she uses a trowel to put it on. I can't wait to . . . oh wait, I'm sure everyone already knows that.

"You don't have a degree because you got a 'Mrs'. Nothing wrong with that except it means that if you have to work for someone else, you and the teenager that just graduated have the same skill level on paper."

Thanks, Grandma. You're telling me I'm no better than Brittnee. Ugh. Two 'e's. What was I thinking hiring her as the babysitter?

"You have more skills than that teenager, though. You have a lifetime of experience, you have management skills, you have organizational skills, and you have _need_. You _need_ to feed your children. So let's go."

* * *

"Mrs. Kloughn, welcome back to Rodger and Fletcher's Furniture."

I smile pleasantly. "Hello, Mr. Coston. This is my grandmother, Edna Mazur."

He smiles charmingly at Grandma. "Mrs. Mazur, how can I help you?"

"Are you the head of HR?"

He stops smiling and looks at her curiously. "Yes, I am."

"Then why didn't you hire my grandbaby?" Grandma asks sweetly. I'm mortified.

He smiles indulgently. "This is a high pressure sales position. Sales associates are on their feet for 8-10 hours a day, they have to have an eye for furniture and space allocation, and they have to be willing to market the store to anyone who walks through the door."

"Oh." Grandma looks thoughtful. "So why did you think Valerie was a bad fit?" She grins at him. "She's serious about getting a job and I thought maybe if we ask a nice man like you, Val might do better the next time."

He laughs. "Well, like I said, you have to be able to stand and sell for 8-10 hours."

"Oh." Grandma nods. "So, what are Val's disabilities?" She looks over at me. I'm standing, purse in hand, completely confused. "She's standing. She can sell. What's her problem?"

Andy looks over at me. "Well . . . "

"Because I know it couldn't be the fact that she was honest in her interview and admitted that she's pregnant." Grandma shakes her head. "Couldn't be that. Because if that's the only reason to reject her, you and I both know that's illegal. EEOC, right?" She smiles and my eyes widen. Oh my God . . . how does Grandma know that?

Andy looks uncomfortable now. "Well, of course not. I'd never reject an applicant for being pregnant."

Grandma beams. "Good. Because I'd think you want honest employees, and Val's an honest girl with lots of skills she can show off that will help your business. She juggles the busy schedules of five people now, so she's organized and has good management skills. She's a hometown girl, so she knows lots of people, but she lived in California for years, so she knows other decorating styles besides 1970s Italian Catholic or early Mafioso."

Two of the employees have drifted over to listen and they chuckle at that part. Andy Coston is very uncomfortable now.

"She helped her husband at his law practice for a while, but that was a bad fit." Grandma winks and Andy pales. "Val has a tendency to over organize. She had Albert so well organized he couldn't find anything in his piles because she'd filed the piles."

Open laughter behind me. I smile.

"So besides asking her about her typing skills and the state of her womb, what did you use to reject her as an applicant?"

"Well . . . technically, we haven't closed it yet. Val is one of many applicants for the position."

"Ah. When do you plan to close it?" Grandma smiles. "Wanna make sure Val doesn't miss out on her chance to work for you."

No answer. Oh my God, what's Grandma up to? Is she blackmailing him to give me this job?

Andy Coston looks at me and sighs. "Mrs. Kloughn, are you still interested in the sales associate position? We plan to close it on Friday."

I beam. "Yes, I'm still interested. I'd love to join the Rodgers and Fletcher's team."

He nods, shoulders slumped. "Great. I look forward to contacting you next week if you move forward in our hiring process."

"Great!" Grandma beams and sticks her hand out to shake. He shakes, a little limp, and we turn to leave.

Grandma turns back around and looks at him. "Andy Coston? Is that short for Andrea?" Loud snickers and Andy turns red.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you related to Myra Coston, used to be Bartok before she married?"

"My mother," he replies.

"Oh!" Grandma beams. "I used to play bridge with Myra, before her accident. She still at Shady Acres?"

Andy is looking pale. "Yes . . . "

"Great. I think I'll pop in on her. I haven't seen her in ages. Played a mean hand of bridge, Myra did. It'll be good to see her, and I'll let her know I spoke to you. Have a good day."

She waves and we leave. Once in the car I turn to her. "EEOC? How did you know about that?"

She rolls down a window and leans back, smiling. "I marched for the ERA. Told Harry to kiss my ass. Someday my granddaughters would thank me for making life easier for them."

Andy Coston calls two days later. I have a job. Damn.

* * *

My phone rings after dinner.

"Hello?"

"Val. Steph."

"Hey. What's up?"

"We found Steve."

I'm flabbergasted. "How? My god, my divorce investigators have been looking for him since I divorced."

"They aren't RangeMan. He's living under an assumed name in Wyoming. Brittnee was the key. He moved away and dumped her by email. What do you want us to do?"

My god. It's like talking to Ranger. No 'Hi, how are you doing?' No 'How are the girls?' Just straight to business. "Can you update my lawyers? Maybe they can finally get some money out of him."

"OK. I'm thinking it's a good idea for me to ask if anyone wants to volunteer to make a quick trip to Wyoming. Deliver a personal message. You have anything you want to say?"

I blink at the phone. "Steph?"

"They're my nieces. Besides, one of my RangeMen is from that area. I think he'd like a trip west for a few days."

* * *

**Ram's POV—Timeline: Chapter 75**

Steady.

Steady hands, soldier.

I check the scope. Windage. Barometric pressure. Range. Check. Air temperature. Check.

Temperature will have a slightly different effect on this weapon, but that's OK. I want it to hit home.

Target is 150 yards away, looking out the window fearfully. If he were smart, he'd realize I attack every 75 minutes. He's picked up the telephone to call the cops but he opens the door and steps outside. After a few minutes, he calms and smiles, looking around. I'm amused.

My phone vibrates. 75 minutes. I release the arrow.

_**Thwack!**_

Six inches above his head. His eyes roll back and he faints.

* * *

Valerie Plum is not my favorite person, but Steph asked a personal favor. Once she explained, I was more than happy to help. I like Angela and Mary Alice, especially MA. Girl has atrocious table manners but she knows her own mind, like her aunt. She'll be an original for the rest of her life.

Besides, I knew exactly how to make this personal.

Steve thinks he's a hunter. Fine. I'll show him a hunter and we'll play the most dangerous game.

I set up camp close to his house. It's a nice house, three bedrooms, two baths, at least 20 acres. I checked while he was out.

No cameras, no security. He would be a sitting duck.

The first arrow was shot 75 minutes after he arrived home and it sailed right through the window and demolished his TV. Even better, the idiot tried to pull it out and got shocked.

Arrow two punctured the refrigerator.

Arrow three (I couldn't believe he still had his windows open at that point) sailed right next to him and demolished the other TV.

He got smart. He closed all the windows.

I switched to the longbow. Arrow four shattered the bedroom window and hit the headboard square in the center, right above his head. He pissed himself and had to take a shower and change the sheets. I laughed. While he took the shower, I snuck in and retrieved all my arrows. By the time the cops showed up, I was back in my hiding spot, mentally laughing my ass off. They left since the only claim he had any proof for was the window.

Five hours. That was enough for one day. I watched. He barely slept all night.

At 0800, I send arrow five at him as he steps outside and checks his surroundings. He faints.

Point made. Now to twist the thumbscrews.

* * *

I walk up to the house and look at him. 5'7", greying brown hair, stubble on face, weak chin. Never lost the baby fat. Wearing a blue plaid shirt, blue jeans, and cowboys boots. Brand new boots. Mine are thoroughly broken in. I put my boot to the door and drag his sorry ass inside, sitting him in chair and tying his arms around the back with rope, making it painful for him to move. I see a pair of chaps. What a poseur.

I put on my gloves, go to the kitchen and get a glass of water. I return and throw it in his face. He sputters awake. I'm smiling. "Steve Wilcox?"

"Yeah? Who are you?"

I slam my fist into his face, still smiling. "I represent someone with an interest in the care and well-being of your children. Thank you for inviting me in and no, I don't want water."

I give him a few minutes to cry through the pain. "That bitch doesn't deserve a penny. I worked my ass off and she pretended she was too good to work or fuck. Hell, if I'm working my ass off in expensive ass California so you can sit on your ass all day, you better be grateful and willing to suck my dick whenever I stick it in your face."

I shrug and sit on the sofa. "I agree with you." He looks at me and I smile. "If that's the agreement you and Val had and she reneged then yeah, you had every right to divorce her ass. But I'm not here about her. Like I said, I'm here about the kids. Just because you don't want to support Val doesn't mean you get to pretend Angela and Mary Alice don't have needs."

He snorts. "They're fine. I'm sure Val found some other Italian superhero to take care of her and if she didn't, I'm sure her mother did."

I snort. "Think again. She found another you, version 2.0. Pasty, pudgy, a lawyer, and willing to indulge her fantasy of 'stay-at-home mother' sainthood. But he has nothing to do with your kids."

I stand and stretch, then stride over and point my Glock in his face. He starts shaking again.

"You are Angela's and Mary Alice's father. Not Albert. Not Frank Plum. You. It's your duty to take care of your daughters, to provide for their needs. Just because you hate Val doesn't mean you don't pay support for your daughters.

We've updated her divorce attorneys of your location. They'll be here in"–I check the time–"twenty minutes to serve you with child support papers. You'll answer them honestly and remember: It took me five days to find you and five hours to make you piss yourself with fear. If I have to return, know this: those arrows could break bones."

I walk to the door and open it, carefully wiping my fingerprints away with my shirt. "By the way, you owe your ex-wife $32,000 in back child support. The judicial system moves in mysterious ways." I smile. "I don't. Get her the money for your girls' needs and it would be nice if she got it by the end of this week. Otherwise, I'll leave my vacation and return to say hello."

* * *

**Val's POV**

I stare at the check for $32,000 that arrived by FedEx certified mail. I can't believe it. Back child support and Leslie, my lawyer, said he signed the paperwork the moment they arrived. She's a bit upset about the bill from RangeMan. They charged her $1,000 for finding Steve.

"Valerie, I'm going to have to disallow this. We didn't authorize RangeMan to find your ex-husband. That's why we have an in-house PI team. They'll have to write this off."

I don't care. I got my child support. Albert, however, looks confused and seeing that I don't plan to respond, he does.

"No, no you'll pay every penny of that. RangeMan managed, in less than one month, what your investigators couldn't do over the course of a year. It's not our fault your guys are useless. Pay RangeMan. Otherwise they'll show up and they aren't intimidated by anything." Albert's hands are shaking just saying that, but he's firm about it. I kiss his cheek and he gives me a tight smile.

"Well, if I don't disallow it, we'll bill you for it."

I look up sharply. "Before you send a bill, we're going to want an itemized statement from your guys detailing **exactly** what they did to find Steve. Like Albert said, my sister and her men managed to find him two weeks after I asked her to. If you can't prove you were actually looking for him, I'm going to want every penny Albert and I paid you back."

Leslie's good but expensive. I know that bill will be liberally padded unless she itemizes and I fight every charge.

Leslie is silent. "Fine, Valerie. We'll pay RangeMan and get your alimony and child support processed."

"Alimony?"

"Yeah. Remember? Alimony was in your original divorce decree. You married so quickly he doesn't have to pay much, but he does have to pay your expenses for moving to New Jersey."

I smile, teary-eyed. Finally! Steve provided. I say goodbye to Leslie and hang up. Albert picks up the phone and dials.

"Hello? Could I speak to Stephanie? This is Albert Kloughn." His voice is shaky and I'm surprised. Why's he calling Steph? "Steph? Hey it's Albert. I want to thank you for helping Val find Steve."

I can hear my sister. "He paid up?"

"Yup. Well, he sent a check for back child support."

"How much?"

"$32,000."

"Oh darn. Ram was looking forward to a return trip."

I frown. Isn't he the one who taught her to shoot? My sister is deadly but she still can't make a meatloaf. Then again, her meatloaf is deadly.

Albert smiles. "Val wants to talk to you." My eyes widen and I shake my head but Albert hands me the phone and walks off.

"Hi, Stephanie." I'm not sure what to say. "Thank you. Thank you so much Steph."

"No prob. I missed the last gymnastics practice. How was it?"

I launch into describing how good Angela is on the mats. She's a natural doing floor exercises. I'm describing, in detail, Angela's last tumbling triumph when Steph breaks in.

"Mary Alice? How's she doing?"

It takes me a moment to switch gears. "Oh, Mary Alice is a natural tumbler! I was surprised but then, she's not that graceful in walking so I guess it was natural for her. Both girls are good at the uneven bars, but the coach is thinking of also putting both girls into competitive cheer. It would allow them to work together and cheerleading is a good sport for the girls."

Steph laughs. "Yeah, cheerleading is now a sport instead of a reason to wear a short skirt and cheer for boys." She snorts. "Anyway, I'm glad to hear Angie and MA are having fun. How's the job?"

"I hate it. I'm hoping that getting this child support will help us and Albert will see I should be home, taking care of the girls."

"So you're already ready to give up?" I hear Steph sigh. "Grandma says you're doing a great job at the furniture store. Congrats."

I smile. My first sales came from women in the Burg whose homes I've seen. I was able to convince them to buy pieces more expensive than they planned, but I was also able to show them how the pieces I recommended would look better in their homes than what they wanted. Now my coworkers are jealous. Burg women, especially, walk in looking for me because they know I know their homes and I know what they should choose in order to have a nice looking home. Andy Coston is flabbergasted. I was the top seller last month.

Albert was right. I like making money, especially since I get to tell all these women that Grandma says laugh at me that they don't have any taste. I make money, I feel accomplished when I sell more than anyone else, and I do solve decorating problems. I just miss being home with the girls. That's my achievement. That's what I want. I can't wait for Albert to tell me we're over the hump and I can stay at home again.

"I miss being home for the girls, Steph. That's what I've always wanted and everyone is making me feel guilty for that."

"No, we're making you feel guilty for not supporting Albert. He supports you by doing everything he can to help you stay at home. Support him now and work so he can finish his certification in mediation."

That was Daddy's idea. One of his Lodge buddies suggested it for Albert. Mediation concentrates on resolving disputes in a non-confrontational way, perfect for Albert and his temperament. I was surprised that it only requires 40 hours of training and an apprenticeship. Albert's law degree means that most of the requirements will be waived.

"I do support him. I just can't wait until he finishes and gets hired." I smile at Albert, who's walked back in. He smiles and reaches for the orange juice, pouring a big glass.

Steph and I talk for a few more minutes before hanging up. I turn to Albert, who is frowning.

"I love you, Val, but I'd like to see you support Steph in her new job too." I gape at him and he blushes and nods. "She didn't have to ask her RangeMen to search for Steve, especially since we were paying someone to find him. Probably her RangeMan volunteered to go scare the crap out of him and get you all your back child support at once." His hands are shaking and he's swallowing hard, but I can see Albert is serious.

"Steph really helped us and you can't find anything nice to say to her. She even introduced us, making me the happiest man in the world, and you can't find anything nice to say to her most of the time. Is the relationship you have with your sister the one you want to see between all our girls? Or between your girls with Steve and your girls with me?"

I'm pale. He can't think I play favorites. Mommy never did.

"Be nice to your sister. Call her every so often. She did us some big favors and really helped us."

Yeah, but she's my sister. She helped me get my child support. I saved her from a murderer.

It's what we do.

* * *

"We'll always fight, but we'll always make up as well. That's what sisters do: we argue, we point out each other's frailties, mistakes, and bad judgment, we flash the insecurities we've had since childhood, and then we come back together. Until the next time. "

Lisa See, _Shanghai Girls_

* * *

**A/N: If you were looking for the deleted scene, it's now up on my website. I apologize for the delay. I spent Saturday at the doctor's (I'm fine! I just have to take it easy. More time to write!)**


	5. What's Going ON?

**A/N: Prompt:** Would love to see something from the POV of the Trenton cops-Eddie, Carl or Robin in particular. More specifically at least a couple of months into Steph's tenure as CO. We've gotten snippets of some of the Burg in your side stories via the Plums and Mrs. Morelli but they tend to be filtered thru those lenses.

* * *

**What's Going ON?**

**Burg POV**

**Month One**

Stephanie Plum has disappeared inside the RangeMan building.

Now, normally, this isn't cause for too much concern. Eddie, the bookie, updates the odds on the Morelli v. Mañoso pot, the cops update the internal cop pot, and we wait to see how everything will shake out in a week or two.

More interesting, at the moment, is the disappearance of Morelli **and** Mañoso.

Mañoso's disappearance wasn't that interesting at first. He disappears constantly, reappears when he wants, and has no Burg connections other than Stephanie, so we're accustomed to getting a big fat 'Fuck You' from him.

Jerseyites can take a lot, but even for us, he's rude.

It's the reason we refuse to bet on him to win Stephanie. No sense of deference to our opinions. No sense of history, of pride in community. No sense of loyalty. He and his men have been here for 4 ½ years and he's made a career of hauling us in. Yes, he also protects us, pays taxes, and provides jobs, but his building and office is an information black hole.

He's also corrupted Stephanie. She's a Burg girl and was weaned on gossip. She knows how the information channels run. She should be passing info on him as quickly as she can get it, but she's tight-lipped about him. That's disturbing. We know nothing about the man, so we don't know how to respond to him.

He's disappeared, probably off to do illegal things that only serve to frustrate and irritate the Trenton cops. He'll reappear when he wants.

Morelli, however, is a hometown boy. Born and raised here, confirmed here, graduated from high school here. We know his movements. He's a detective, a member of the community, a home (and dog) owner. A slice of apple pie and Americana all at once. Well, since he's Italian, maybe more a cannoli and the Italian American Civil Rights League. Still, boys like Morelli are why we fought wars overseas. So he could fight wars here at home.

So . . . where did he disappear to?

It's not right that **no one** knows where he's disappeared to. He pulled a Mañoso on us. We don't know when he left, where he went, what's he's doing or where he's going. It's not as if we'll talk. This is the Burg! Secrets live and die here! You can tell the same secret to 20 people in the Burg and it will still stay within the Burg. Everyone knows who they shouldn't tell gossip to. The entire Burg could know something and yet, if we don't want it to be known, it won't be known.

So why doesn't anyone know what this big case he's on is about?

* * *

Eddie Gazarra approaches Stephanie's apartment cautiously. He only shows up here once or twice a year, preferring to stay in his office at Trenton PD and actually work. Besides, Steph's apartment has been the scene of a lot of disturbing incidents. There are men in Trenton PD with PTSD as a result of a 'Plum plea'.

Newbies quickly learn that a call to the apartment is never good. Exploding cars? Fine. Shots fired? OK. Calls to the apartment?

Pythons.

Big Dog and Carl have never forgotten. Carl got rid of his snakeskin boots after that. They don't want to discuss the tarantulas.

Gazarra stiffens his spine, says a quick prayer that no one's home, and knocks.

"One minute."

He slumps. Even worse. Edna Mazur. That means he'll leave knowing she wanted to pinch him but she won't because he's family. It's his only saving grace.

The door opens and he quickly plasters on a smile. "Hi, Mrs. Mazur."

"Eddie, we're family. It's Edna. Whatcha need?"

"I'm looking for Stephanie. I need to finish this incident report." The detectives drew straws and he lost. That's the only reason he's there.

Edna frowns. "She's at RangeMan. You know that."

"They screen her calls. Everything from Trenton PD is sent to Hal Linden."

Edna rolls her eyes. "You tell him what you want?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"He'll call us back."

Edna shrugs. "Well, that's that. Stephie is on bed rest, you know. If Ranger told them to make sure she rested, they'll make **certain** that she rests."

Eddie's shoulders slump. He was hoping Edna would take the hint.

"Any chance you might call her and tell her to call me? We want to get this report filed. After all, she won't get the insurance check until she has this."

Edna looks at Eddie in pity. "You really think that hunk of metal she was driving had more than the bare minimum on it?"

At this, Eddie smiles mentally. Steph's lack of insurance on those hulks is also legendary. She'll get nothing from the insurance company. "I really just want to get this filed and off my desk."

Edna shrugs. "I'll call her. Doesn't mean you'll get her any faster."

* * *

The press release from RangeMan was astonishing. No one knew how to respond except Eddie the bookie, who updated odds in Mañoso's favor and hoped to hell Steph didn't choose him. He'd be out tens of thousands if Mañoso won.

Around the Burg, the reaction was the same: Why?

Stephanie is a nice girl and she comes from a good family, but she's no RangeMan. She doesn't have their skills. She was fired when she worked in a corporate job (we choose to ignore the Mob angle. The Mob is connected to almost every business in New Jersey). She's not scary or menacing, but Ranger left her in charge of his company?

How long _has_ she been sleeping with him?

Bella Morelli feels humiliated on Joseph's behalf. She always knew that Stephanie was a tart. Now here's the proof. Sunny, Joe's godfather, might feel that Joseph owes Stephanie his name, but Stephanie was a slut then and she's a slut now. Joseph is too good for her. Now she's sleeping with the Latino hood instead of settling down and making babies with her Joseph. This is embarrassing. What on earth did Helen Plum raise?

Personally, Angie feels the same but she keeps her head up and her mouth closed. Joseph's choice. She has no idea what's going on in their relationship. She does hope, however, that Joseph puts his foot down in regards to the RangeMen, all of them, when he and Stephanie get married. Ranger and his men cannot be a presence in the Morelli household.

Up and down the streets of the Burg, the thoughts are all similar: Stephanie's been sleeping with Ranger the entire time. There's no other reason for Ranger to put Stephanie in charge.

Poor Joseph.

* * *

Just his luck. It's April 1, April Fool's Day, and Steph has time to talk. Gazarra heads to RangeMan and waits in the lobby.

"Hey, Eddie!" Steph looks tired and she's in a wheelchair, but she has a smile on her face at the sight of him.

She's also escorted by Hector Gutierrez.

The sight of him terrifies Gazarra. He wants to take Stephanie by the arms and escort her out of the building, away from a serial killer, but he knows he can't. If rumor holds, he would be dead before the sun came back up. So he watches their interactions. Gutierrez sees him as a threat and is clearly dying to dare him to touch Stephanie.

Well, Steph is still family. So, killer or not, he's hugging his cousin-by-marriage.

"Hey, Steph!" OK, so he's not trying to notice, but Steph smells like something expensive and clean. Sharp. It's a good scent on her.

"Eddie! What's up?"

"I pulled the Thomas Mann case." Steph frowns. "He's back in custody and looking at six months at least."

"That's all?"

"Charges were dropped. No one will testify. Anyway, I need to finish off your statement."

Steph waves for him to follow her. Gazarra ends up between Gutierrez and Steph. Normally, this would be seen as an unforgiveable lapse, to leave his partner's back wide open, but Gutierrez doesn't follow standard rules. Gazarra knows better. Gutierrez is subtly threatening him, so Gazarra keeps his hands in view at all times.

They end up on the third floor in a conference room. Steph slowly details what happened that day, signs the paperwork and smiles. "How's Shirley?"

"Wondering if and when you'll come see her." He smiles. "We could use a night out."

Steph laughs. "Wheelchair and, last I remember, you aren't wheelchair friendly."

"Damn." He grins and they laugh. Gutierrez is sitting across from him, face blank, watching his every move. "So, we gonna see you any time soon?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I'm still trying to get a handle on the workload here."

"Bad?" He's concerned. Steph does look drawn and tired.

"Crushing," she replies, smiling sadly. Gazarra stands, gives her a one-armed hug, nods at Gutierrez and walks out of the conference room. He's immediately met by a RangeMan and shadowed all the way to the lobby, where he exits. He sits in his car, shaking, before driving back to Trenton PD.

It's hard to feel like the face of law and order when you have a bunch of heavily armed mercenaries tracking your every movement.

* * *

**Month Two**

Trenton PD is confused. Apparently her partner is the serial killer, Gutierrez. He only speaks Spanish, but Helen says the partnership works.

Mañoso put a hit man at Stephanie's back. Well, that's good, Trenton PD thinks. No one would be stupid enough to try to attack her with _Gutierrez_ at her back. Gazarra returned to the station still shaking slightly. Gutierrez has lost none of his fear factor in four years.

Hector is always where Stephanie is. They like each other. She shops, he carries bags. He has endless patience and she shows no fear of him. He even accompanied her to a Chippendale's show and enjoyed himself. Well, he didn't spend the entire night playing games on his phone like any other man would, according to the Burg spies who saw her, Mary Lou Stankovic, Connie Rosolli, and Lula Jackson in Philadelphia. They had fun. The killer seemed amused by the ladies.

Trenton PD does **not** understand this behavior.

He's teaching her to defend herself. No one knows what she's teaching him. Perhaps English? It would be nice to interview him without needing an interpreter. They charge by the quarter hour and Trenton PD is close to ordering the men to bring their own toilet paper again. Trenton PD is hoping against hope that Steph will let something slip that will solve the Trenton Massacre.

They know it was him. They just can't fucking prove it. If it wasn't him, then they'd have to look at Mañoso and they **don't** want to do that.

Helen Plum adores the quiet man always at her daughter's side. Hector Gutierrez is the only person she's ever known, besides her father, who could control her mother. Edna finds him a challenge and it's kept her out of any other mischief for weeks. It's been a relief not to accompany Edna to viewings at Stiva's. Peter Clifford is actually speaking to her again.

Edna Mazur spends hours at the Clip and Curl looking for ways to get him back. So far, they've learned that he did something, threatened her in Spanish, and she's looking for payback. Trenton PD is utterly confused by this. The profile for this man says he should have killed her, relationship to Stephanie or not. He killed others for far less, so why is Edna Mazur still alive?

They're not saying they wouldn't investigate. They're simply promising a very very slow examination of the facts, in exchange for a favor.

They've been pinched too. They're close to arresting her on harassment and battery charges.

* * *

The first bit of news in weeks! Stephanie was reportedly in Atlanta for two weeks. Her mother is crowing about how much the men there love her. Apparently they sent her home with 'swag'. The military men said it means 'scientific wild ass guess,' but that sounded wrong. Everyone had to consult the 12-18 year olds to find out what that really meant. A new word in the Burg. We committed it to memory.

Helen Plum's turnaround in favor of the RangeMen has been . . . odd. Before Stephanie started working there full-time, they were thugs, criminals, hooligans. Now, they're polite, respectful young men with excellent manners. They appreciate her cooking. They send thank you notes. They send cigars to Frank Plum.

We're intrigued. Husband material? Well, they _are_ mostly single, handsome, and well-built. Maybe that's why Helen Plum likes them so much. If Joseph and Stephanie really are off (his family says yes; Helen Plum doesn't seem to care), then the RangeMen are suitable alternatives.

They'll have to find another color besides black to wear on occasion to meet Burg standards. We've never seen any of them in a pair of jeans.

We wonder: Does Ranger Mañoso _**own**_ jeans?

* * *

Stephanie was spotted with the really big white guy in a black SUV. This was noteworthy for a few reasons.

1. She was driving.

2. The white guy was familiar. No one knows his name but he shows up at her scenes pretty often.

3. The Hispanic that's supposed to be her partner was nowhere in sight.

4. She was being chased by Joyce Barnhardt.

This is more behavior that confuses the Burg. Does she have a new partner? That would be understandable. Stephanie doesn't know Spanish. How is she communicating with the other young man who is always with her? Plus, this new young man she's with . . . well, we won't say he's not scary looking. He at least 6'2" and built like a linebacker. He's pure muscles (is this a requirement? Must be huge and scary to work at RangeMan?) and yet, he looks so innocent. It's weird.

Stephanie made a few stops in Trenton before stopping in to see her perverted cousin. Vinnie bitches and moans, but he misses his disastrous little cousin. Her reputation actually made him money, not that he ever planned to give her a raise (Hey, her contract was clear cut! She was an independent contractor and she was allowed ten percent of the bond. She was getting everything she was gonna get!). People bonded themselves out with him just for the fun of being apprehended by the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. Now they know that she's gone and he has a former cop running his bonds now.

The cop is not like the BBH. He gets you the **first** time.

Damn.

Watching Joyce Barnhardt chase her was odd. They don't like each other, since before _Orr v. Orr_. So why trail her? What was the point? And they went up and down Route 1 only to end up right back at the bonds office.

Confusing.

Then another RangeMan showed up.

He wasn't in a black SUV but he was still in black clothes and appeared to be heavily armed. He disappeared into Vinnie's for a while. Joyce exited, then Stephanie and her new partner (we really need an answer to this question) left in their SUV.

The other RangeMan left in his car.

And we're left with more questions than answers.

* * *

Robin Russell is standing in front of a smoldering wreck on US 1.

David Pickens' car was firebombed.

The moment the call went out, half of Trenton PD raced to their cars. Finally! The Bombshell Bounty Hunter was back in action! The dispatcher even said that it was Vincent Plum's BEA whose vehicle was on fire.

Well, nothing reported was inaccurate and they've responded to exactly what was called in: a firebombed car and an upset BEA 50 yards away.

"Shit, we thought we were gonna get the chick! Where's she at? We did all this just to see her!"

Thanks for the statement, guys, Robin thinks to herself. That arson case is going to be a breeze now. Robin looks around at all the upset and unhappy officers standing around and walks over.

"For four years, I've watched you guys respond to these scenes and laugh," she says quietly. "You passed around money. You made a big joke about it. You—"

"Aw come off it, Russell! It was all in good fun! She knew that."

"**IT'S NOT FUNNY!" **Something in Robin Marie Russell breaks and she screams at her colleagues. "You think this shit's a joke! I come here because I'm concerned about her. You come here to laugh at her. Well, I'm starting a pool back at the office. Let's start a pool on how many times your wife is gonna kick you out this month. Whatcha think, Bianchi? It happens often enough for us to put money on it."

The men wish she'd shut up. That was a low blow, using the man's personal life against him. The officer pales.

Robin looks around. "How about I take every one of your humiliating, embarrassing moments and start a pool, huh? You think it'd still be funny? Or would you laugh to keep from getting in someone's face?"

Robin stalks off, but she's not fast enough to avoid hearing "OK, is Russell on the rag this week? She's been a total bitch." The men laugh, still stung, but at least that got her back for that bitchy comment. It was unfair. Steph always laughs at this stuff. If she's OK with it, Russell needs to back off.

Robin gets in her car, leans back, and blows out a breath. She wants to cry but she can't. She has enough difficulty at her job.

Stephanie Fucking Plum makes it so much harder for someone like her to be respected in her job. Steph is a joke, so women don't need to be cops or work in law enforcement. They should stay at home and raise babies. Don't try to do dangerous or difficult jobs. Let the men take care of that. Otherwise you'll just be another Steph Plum, injured, burned, damn near buried alive.

A joke.

One Stephanie Plum is worth the 50 Robin Russells in Trenton PD. They're sick of it. They hope the RangeMen are finally training her because they're ready to beat the shit out of her. Stephanie has, inadvertently, cost three women promotions. They refuse to speak to her anymore. Sexism is alive and well in law enforcement, no matter how hard they fight, and having Stephanie Plum around does not make the argument any easier.

And the most fucked up part of the very existence of Stephanie Plum is the fact that her success rate is better than **any** cop in Trenton PD. She **always** solves the fucking case.

* * *

**Month Three**

We have a new concern. Both Morelli and Mañoso appear to have been replaced.

She goes nowhere without the Hispanic or the large white guy. We've been forced to learn names. The large white guy is Hal. He's in charge of the branch and apparently he's as kind as he appears. Cassandra, at the florist, loves him. He's there weekly, ordering new bouquets for Stephanie to be delivered on Friday.

Is he attempting to date her in Joseph's absence? There was talk of adding him to the book but Eddie wants confirmation that there's an actual relationship there.

The Hispanic is Hector and apparently Hector also sends her bouquets. Every Wednesday.

It's Morelli v. Mañoso all over again! One white, one Hispanic, and they're both sending her flowers and escorting her places.

Which one is her partner? Or is there more going on?

**We need answers!** It's impossible to make decisions about her life without knowing basic information!

We're getting exhausted wondering what's going on, and she's the only Burg outlet. We can't ask her because both men become extremely menacing whenever someone approaches her. We're backing off. Mary Lou won't pass information about her best friend and all Helen will say is that 'both young men work with her. They're in management too. Hector is her partner. Henry is the head of the branch."

* * *

We are now officially afraid of who Stephanie Plum has become.

Joyce looks a wreck. The story she's telling is that Stephanie kidnapped her and left her for dead in the middle of the Pine Barrens.

For the first time, we're certain this is a lie. There are too many elements of the story that make absolutely no sense. First, what happened to her truck engine? You don't just _lose_ a truck engine and this is the second time it's happened to her. She doesn't have a sensible answer this time either.

Apparently Henry stole it. Again. An SUV engine? Unlikely.

Then there's the fact that Stephanie is generally a kind girl. She's not Joyce, perpetually stealing boyfriends and husbands. Every woman in the Burg lined up behind Stephanie on this one.

Joyce reappeared minus her wallet, cell phone, and any condoms. A heel on her stiletto boots was broken and her hair and nails were a mess. We want to tell Joyce that sex in the woods is OK as long as you don't get caught. Sex in public is generally frowned on, but if you get frisky in the Pine Barrens, no one will say a word.

Just have a better excuse for why your partner left you.

She made a quick trip to Trenton PD when she returned and Robin Russell took her statement. Once Joyce admitted to following Stephanie of her own free will, Robin stopped the interview, telling her that if they continued Stephanie would have grounds to file a stalking complaint. Joyce continued so Robin filed the report and sent a note to RangeMan, suggesting that _perhaps_ Stephanie might want to get that report reviewed by a lawyer.

Joyce poached one of Robin's boyfriends too. Robin's looking for payback.

Joyce didn't like how the report turned out, so she found a more _willing_ officer to listen to her, but once the statements were compared it was clear Joyce merely had an axe to grind. The cops put it in their file 13, pending further review.

Robin made sure it was reviewed by the custodians later that night. Her report stands as the official one.

Now, if it's true that Stephanie was the mastermind behind some elaborate scheme to lure Joyce to the woods, strip her bare, and leave her for dead, well . . .

Good for her, but that's scary.

* * *

**Month Four**

Stephanie has decided to work from the beach for six weeks. This is the first bit of information we've gotten lately that's useful. It tells us a **lot**.

First, she rented a house. Now, we have no idea what they're paying her, but renting a house in Point Pleasant (and still paying rent on her apartment for Edna) means they're paying her a substantial amount.

Substantial as in six figures.

She's become a lot more interesting to quite a few men in the Burg. Not that they're looking for a rich girl. There's just no reason to ignore one who happens to be single and from the Burg. Now, if they could just get her alone . . . but those RangeMen surrounding her mean that's impossible.

Second, she must have _some_ pull. No matter what job you do, you don't just get to up and decamp to the beach unless you really do run things. So maybe she really is in charge. We're still not sure. We're waiting on news.

* * *

Finally! Valerie returned from beach with interesting news. Her sister really does run RangeMan. She's in charge. And she doesn't like being called the 'new Ranger'. She's not Ranger and she doesn't want to be Ranger.

She intends to do as she pleases.

We roll our eyes. She's forgotten where she's from in four months. She's a Burg girl. There's no leaving the Burg behind. You take it with you wherever you go.

A week later the RangeMen completely ruin the book! Almost 100 of them enter the pot. They bet on the draw, so our assumptions about her relationships with Henry and Hector might be correct. The official bet is that she's with neither Joseph nor Ranger, so it fits. Eddie **still** refuses to take bets on the possibility of new relationship and we finally got an answer why.

His nephew works for Trenton PD. Eddie's heard about Hector's reputation and just had a visit from a different RangeMan. This RangeMan knows how to calculate odds and he's damn good at it. Eddie will pass on the possibility of a huge payday in favor of his life.

They threw it off by also betting for their boss. Now we're confused, but one thing is clear.

Regardless of what Angie Morelli says, Joseph is a floater.

* * *

Julie Wisneski has the Burg gossip lines hot tonight. There was a Stephanie sighting! And she was with a child! Julie reports the child was around three, an adorable little boy with beautiful brown eyes and curly black hair.

Clearly Hispanic.

She said there was no denying it. The child adored her and she was at ease with him, so they've spent time together before. The little boy calls her '_Angita'._ We have no idea what that means. We check Spanish-English dictionaries and online translators. The closest we come is an Italian goddess, which makes no sense. Sophia Loren is an Italian goddess. Stephanie? Well, she's a sweet girl but we guess she might count in the eyes of a three year old.

Stephanie said that the little boy was her training partner's nephew, so the unofficial 'Burg' pot now swings in Hector's favor. The official pot has nudged, yet again, toward Ranger. So now we're thinking Stephanie has a thing for Hispanic men.

Poor Joseph. Perhaps he needs to tan a bit more and learn Spanish.

* * *

**Month Five**

The Burg has a snitch.

The RangeMen have been capturing fugitives with ease again. No one can hide from them. Even the most obscure spots are being raided. We knew Stephanie passed them information on occasion when she worked solo, but during the four months she's been working for RangeMan, Burg fugitives have had a chance to breathe easy and relax. She was out of the gossip lines. She wasn't passing the info over.

We thought Mary Lou might be involved, but it's clear that she's not.

We've carefully prepped our kids to ask questions of the Stankovic kids, but they either know nothing or they're better liars than we believed. Their mom has a new computer, but there's nothing RangeMan on it and they're allowed to be on it.

We're stymied. No security company on earth would allow that, so that can't be it.

Mary Lou has been seen texting a few times but there are never any texts to RangeMan. She's getting irritated with being asked so we've been passing her fake information, just as a test.

The RangeMen never fall for it.

_Sigh_. Who polices a neighborhood gossip line? Who can we call to make it fair again? Our gossip should **not** be used against us!

* * *

**Month Six**

Stephanie's back! She and her friends got together for a night out on the town.

Neither Henry nor Hector accompanies her. Instead she's accompanied by someone different. We overhear his name as they're being seated. Woody. He starts to sit at a separate table to give Stephanie, Connie, Mary Lou and Lula some space to party, but the ladies invite him to join them. He declines and, ten minutes after they arrived, another man joins him. We recognize him. He arrested George Koslock. Woody looked relieved to see him.

The women have a good time at dinner and we hear the next stop is Lula's apartment to help her pack. Lula is engaged and moving to Texas. Her ring is ginormous and Burg women are quietly jealous. Most of us got married so early we didn't get a big ring, and we didn't even get **that** big a ring on our anniversary. That's at least $25,000 in platinum and diamonds on her finger, not to mention the tennis bracelet around her wrist. And the former prostitute is the one proudly holding her hand up.

Was it stolen? Pinched? Fenced? Does her new fiancé know about her past? We're not saying we want to break up a happy engagement. We just feel that perhaps this poor deluded man should know **everything** about this woman. She's not the kind of woman you shower with diamonds and platinum. Something smaller and less showy would be more appropriate.

Or maybe she _earned_ that ring? That would make sense, given her former profession. Yes, she _earned_ the ring. We take a sip of wine and swallow the nasty, jealous, hateful thoughts and immediately begin scheming to get a much larger ring. Something that makes it clear that gaining a ring like that comes from having lived morally upright lives.

Her friends haven't gotten the memo. They toast her and her good fortune.

Stephanie announces that the men are mostly done with her training and she's being tested starting Friday. She's nervous but ready. We believe it. It takes us a moment to realize we haven't seen Stephanie since she was zipping around town with Joyce following her. We do some quick math. Three months.

It shows. She's fit and trim. She carries herself differently, with more confidence. She merely nods at us when she leaves.

No attempt to come get her messages or hear our concerns. Just a quick nod and she's out of the door.

She might not want to be Ranger but that's exactly who she's become.

She's become Ranger.

What happened to her in that building? What did they do? And how long will it take for Stephanie Plum to remember that she's Burg?

She belongs to us and we aren't letting go.

* * *

Louise Malinkowski has the Burg gossip lines hot tonight. Stephanie called asking about SIRS. We immediately hit our computers looking it up and there's widespread debate over whether or not Louise said SARS or SIRS. Finally we confirm it's SIRS and start reading.

Sepsis. Burg men shiver. They know what sepsis is. This sounds nasty.

Burg women immediately begin sanitizing anything they can get their hands on before the men quietly inform them that it's an infection, a blood infection. Stephanie is extremely sick, so we start bombarding Helen Plum with commiseration calls (and we'd like to know more). Helen is confused so she calls Stephanie. Within minutes, the Burg has an update. Stephanie is fine. A friend of a friend has SIRS and Stephanie didn't understand what she was reading online, so she called for an opinion. Her normal medic was unavailable.

OK. But that's still nasty. We'll believe it when we see her again.

* * *

All around the Burg, the opinion is the same: Stephanie Plum has forgotten who she is. She no longer escorts her grandmother to Stiva's every week. She no longer shows up at her mother's home weekly to eat and hear the latest gossip and news (and lecture). She's no longer a solo bounty hunter and, working at RangeMan, we have no idea how she's progressing in her job. RangeMan is a security company, so Helen cannot say anything about her performance other than 'She's doing fine'. Edna tells us to mind our own damn business (how rude!).

This worries us.

It's impossible to make decisions about her life now because she doesn't interact with us. The few times we see her in public, the RangeMen are immediately hostile to anyone approaching. They do a good job of ensuring that Stephanie never catches them at it, but they're very good at forcing everyone to keep their distance.

This isn't right.

This isn't fair.

We have successfully managed the lives of thousands of young men and women in this community! It's what keeps us strong and vibrant! Look at Valerie! Happily married to a lawyer, has three adorable (if rambunctious) little girls, and is pregnant with another little girl. Her life is settled and happy. Mary Lou is also a success story. Happily married for almost 15 years and three handsome boys to show for it.

Even Joseph's family is a wonderful example of fidelity and trust in the Burg. Bella and Angie Morelli both mourn their husbands even after all these years and no one's ever heard rumors of either lady dating another man. Cathy and her husband are happily married (no babies yet. We're starting to get concerned) and Angelina and Tony are happily married. They might be more happily married if Tony's (_ahem_) privates didn't travel to more fertile ground so often, but they're still together and happy.

There's nothing wrong with the Burg way of life! It's the backbone of America. Apple pie, Little League, church on Sunday.

If we had some sense of what she was doing, we would know how to more correctly match her with Joseph or some other Burg-approved young man. Mañoso is not Burg-approved, especially if he **encourages** the sort of behavior we've seen lately. Isolation from family and friends? Isolation from the community that raised and nurtured her? A focus on her career? Not that we're saying that a career is a bad thing, because it's not. We're just acknowledging that America was built and sustained on a foundation of families and family should always come first. A career should be a distant second for a young healthy girl like Stephanie. Stephanie should be concerned about getting remarried and getting a family started. A career will always be there if she wants one.

Stephanie is Italian. She knows family comes first.

Or is this the Hungarian gypsy in her coming out? We rather hoped the gypsy in her would emerge late in life, like Edna. We get the feeling that Edna might have dumped Harry and tried to make it on her own if she had a chance.

Edna is the kind of woman who would have tossed her beret and her bra. Thank god Helen has more propriety.

This independence is worrisome. Stephanie needs to be reintroduced to the Burg soon so we can help her get her priorities in order.

* * *

_A man is likely to mind his own business when it is worth minding. When it is not, he takes his mind off his own meaningless affairs by minding other people's business. This minding of other people's business expresses itself in gossip, snooping and meddling, and also in feverish interest in communal, national and racial affairs. In running away from ourselves we either fall on our neighbor's shoulder or fly at his throat._

_Erich Fromm_


	6. Observation

**A/N: One-Shot Prompts from Yllyn and molly9429. Thanks!**

* * *

**Observation**

'_If you make listening and observation your occupation  
you will gain much more than you can by talk.'_

* * *

**Ram's POV**

Steady.

Steady hands, soldier.

I check the scope. Windage. Barometric pressure. Range. Check. Air temperature. Check.

Target is 1500 yards away. Chatting with other insurgents. I've been watching for days. They'll leave, he'll stay.

They leave.

I pull the trigger.

Next target.

* * *

Woody's coming down with a cold. I can tell. He's swallowing constantly and attempting to pop his ears. Amusing. He seems to come down with a summer cough or cold every year. I make a mental note to get him some Emergen-C and ask Ella to up his Vitamin C.

Hal's at the bridge trying to schedule men. Steph's at the beach with Hector and I know she's having fun. We're glad. We're losing our minds here. Summer colds, one injury, and this 'assignment' are wearing Trenton thin. On the plus side, since she's out of the field, injuries are at record lows. Just one right now. We're thrilled and hoping this continues once she's fully trained.

Manny's out, on 'assignment' he says. OK. I can't wait for Manny and Hal to admit that Ranger is running a domestic. He has to be. Those two, and Hector, disappear without warning all the time and I'm left running the office. I'm a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. The USMC Scout Sniper Training School taught me well. The training was intense and the designation 'Sniper Scout Qualified' was earned. I can pick up on things others miss. There's nothing worse than thinking I'm missing a marker, a detail, which is why I was about to lose my mind during the test period. I was trained to pick up details in an instant. I couldn't figure out why I was missing the threat against Steph.

I stand and stretch. Mary Lou's information is spot on, as usual. I decide to join the takedown team for George Koslock. I need a break.

* * *

Man, mid-30s, black fedora with a red feather. Tan pants, professionally hemmed. Blue check shirt. Pinkie ring. Wedding ring. Scuffed brown boots, well worn and loved. Estimating 5'10", 165 pounds.

Woman, 20s. Fake tits. Fake tan. Expensive orthodontia done as a kid. Tight white dress with cut outs. Fake Ferragamos. Just fake. No nose work done. Italian? 5'7", 120.

Woman, early 30s. Flat sandals, tight blue jeans, great ass. Coach purse, wedding ring, white tank top, aviator sunglasses, SHIT! Mary Lou. I amend the description. CO's best friend. Built like a brickhouse. Happily married. Accompanied by older woman, late 50s, early 60s. Khakis, white-shirt, thin wedding ring, tight perm. No resemblance. Mother-in-law? I see Lenny in this woman.

Cal is with me. If I have to do surveillance without Woody, then Cal is the next best option. Cal can be absolutely silent, which is good. I loved working with him when I was head of the monitoring unit. Cal declined to take it over, saying he had no interest in management. That's why Woody is the head. I didn't want to promote my partner (didn't want to hear accusations of favoritism) but Trenton office, by and large, doesn't operate like that. You get promoted on merit around here. My brothers are loyal men and we all get to see each other's actions or reactions every day. Woody was the next best choice, so he took it. Cal prefers not being in management and he and Woody work well together.

I'm scanning every man on the street and I nod at Cal. Man and woman just entered Giovichinni's. My phone beeps.

_George is at Giovichinni's. ML._

Thanks, ML. I spotted him. I want to tell him that, as a general rule, trench coats in the summer make you look guilty of _something_, even if you're innocent. I strap on the hardware and wait. I estimate 30 minutes.

I'm right.

We strap George down and climb in.

Sandals with a three inch heel. Peep toe, red polish. Bare legs. Denim skirt hitting mid-thigh. White tank top and a silk overshirt. DD cups. Hand at chest, no ring on finger. Thin gold necklace with crucifix. Plump red lips, fresh lip wax, black hair teased up. Pretty dark brown eyes.

I amend the description. CO's best friend. Connie Rosolli. Rosolli crime family. I nod as we pass and she waves.

* * *

**Connie's POV**

Ram's just caught George Koslock. No stunner there. George is as thick as two short planks, but he's a good wheel man.

I sigh and call Uncle Lou. George was in his crew and he'd been told not to get caught.

"Zio?"

"Costanza?"

"Yes, zio. George was caught."

"Thank you, Costanza." _Click_.

I continue to my car. Seeing Ram has made my day. I don't know why I'm so interested in him (besides the fact that he's gorgeous), but I guess it's because he's the only RangeMan, besides Ranger, who I know can speak more than 10 words. ML says he spoke to her. Twenty-three words total. She was gloating but she told me that the RangeMen will talk if they start the conversation.

Great, Mary Lou. Thanks. Now what the hell do you expect me to do with that information? What reason does Ram have to speak to me? Manuel I've spoken to, since he's now the head of Bonds Enforcement. Hal I speak to regularly. Ram?

This is not a problem with Italian men. Italian men talk. They love to talk. They talk so fucking much they talk themselves to jail.

* * *

I realized what my uncles did at five. A bit young to figure it out, but I assume watching a man get sodomized in your basement because he's late with his 'protection' payments for the third time would make anyone grow up. I wasn't supposed to see it, but I'd been napping upstairs. My parents were out shopping. My older sister was supposed to be watching us. She was doing her nails when I slipped by her.

Now that I'm older, I'm a bit disturbed that I didn't have much of a reaction. Either my uncles were good liars or I truly didn't understand what was going on. I just understood my uncles were very dangerous men.

My uncles run our section of the Burg and my dad is the Family lawyer. They make sure he keeps his hands clean so he can defend them. The Italian Mafia is alive and well in Trenton, NJ. We socialized with the Hungarians when we had to but mostly because they were Catholic and we were Catholic. The Poles were OK, if nothing else was available. My grandmother said they bred like rabbits, which I found funny even though I had no idea what that meant at the time. My mother didn't find it so funny, but then she was working on child number eight at the time. Tina and I are determined to never serve as brood mares. Tereza is doing enough for both of us. Assumpta has done her duty too.

Non-Catholics and blacks were forbidden. They were going to hell; no need to be tempted to join them. Lula bemuses my entire family. She's both black and Baptist, but she's loud and funny and takes no shit so, oddly enough, of all my friends Dad likes her best. I've often wondered if my Daddy was one of her customers but I'm sure he wasn't. Lula tends not to speak to people she fucked when she was on the streets. She goes to my parents' house and debates my dad on food and politics. They're ardent Democrats and can debate policy for hours. Dad likes her 'unique' perspective, especially since Lula will occasionally throw him a curveball, like her stance on drug policy. She always puts away more than him and he likes that.

"Time was a woman ate like a woman. She didn't starve herself. A man likes having something to hold onto."

I believe it. All of us are sturdy Sicilian stock. I'm careful about what I eat. Between pregnancy and genes, my family runs from solid to fat in two meals.

* * *

I grew up watching my uncles' protection racket. Unlike most Mafia men, they didn't hide it from us. Nope, they were clear about the fact that they were made men. I learned how to read men by watching the ones in my uncles' crews. I know the cheaters, the liars, the whores, and scoundrels. I can spot a man with an addiction at a thousand paces. Not much gets by me.

Men are an open book because their needs are simple. Food, sex, sleep, entertainment. Sometimes you can combine two or three of the four elements and that will lead to the fourth. Otherwise, watching two women covered in chocolate lick each other wouldn't be so interesting to them.

I developed early, which should have made me an object of interest in the Burg. Problem? My uncles. Linda Scarpa once said that she never said anything about crushes or boys because they wouldn't last long after. _'They went into a club and they beat him bad, and for what? __**I**__ was kissing __**him**__.'_ Clearly her dad's crew and my uncles had read from the same playbook. Boyfriends were told to keep their hands to themselves. Kissing was forbidden. Sex was not on anyone's mind. So boys stopped being interested in me. I mean, with three enforcers 'chaperoning' my dates, it wasn't as if they were going to get to touch my chest.

The Rosolli girls became known as 'Untouchable' for more than the obvious reasons.

We were sick of it. We weren't getting to act out on our desires or crushes. Until my wedding, I'd never even been allowed to hold hands with a boy. So I married. My wedding, to Tony, looked like it was inspired by Connie Corleone's. I had hundreds of guests, lots of flowers, a bright sunny day. I was 18 and I was in love, I thought. It was what you did. If you wanted to lose your virginity, you got married. Did I love Tony? I don't know, but I was curious about sex and smart enough to know that marriage came first, especially if you were the daughter of a 'Family' like mine.

All of the 'Untouchable' Rosolli girls were virgin brides. We had no other choice.

Everyone in town discussed Steph's 'deflowering' because it caused a dilemma. The Plums weren't active but her cousins and uncles (the Plummeris) are. They wanted revenge for the slight and loss but Morelli's godfather was a capo. Two mob families going head to head? Burg suicide. Some said Steph should have kept her legs closed. Others said that was the problem with marrying Hungarians: randy animals. Still others thought she led him on.

Opinion was pretty much that Steph was old enough to know better. She should have kept her legs closed. Morelli did what virile Italian men interested in a pretty girl do. He got laid. His problem? No discretion. That was the part everyone sided with Steph over. It was one thing for Morelli to have sex with her. It was completely disrespectful for him to brag about on the walls around town. She was a good Italian Catholic girl. He ruined her reputation.

My family was evenly divided. The women were completely on Morelli's side in saying Steph should have kept her legs closed. Steph was, and is, known for having more curiosity than sense. She didn't scream rape and, had Morelli not decided to try his hand at graffiti, no one would have known.

The men in my family would have killed Morelli or made him marry me to make up for the slight to my honor. Frank Plum's unwillingness to defend his daughter's honor was considered odd and unmanly.

When Steph ran Morelli over, it was considered just compensation and honor was restored. The Burg calmed down and life went on. I know Steph doesn't know, but Morelli's godfather, 'Sunny' Sunucchi, convinced him to accept the broken leg and keep his mouth shut. He, personally, was ready to deliver harsher punishment to Joe. Steph is still an Italian and she'd been dishonored by him. I think that's why Joe's hung on so long. Joe loves her and he wants to marry her, but Sunny is still disappointed in Joe and expects Joe to 'make it right' with Steph. Joe knows what that means.

Tony wanted a traditional Mob wife. Cook, clean, have babies, fuck on demand. I'd been raised to expect this and for the first few years I didn't complain. I didn't want to. Sex was everything I'd hoped. Tony was great in bed. After five years married, everyone decided it was time for me to start having babies. I was thinking about going to college; Tony was thinking baby names. So we started trying to have a baby. After two years, we were still trying but I had my AA in Business Admin. My mother went to Mass and said prayers for my womb and Tony regarded my period as a personal affront to him.

"Again? This is ridiculous! Maybe you need to lay on your back a little longer. Let my boys get a good swim in."

Asshole. After another year we saw a doctor, who declared me healthy.

Tony had a low sperm count.

He was insulted. That's when our problems started. While I was flat on my back with a pillow under my hips, trying to let his boys 'get a good swim in', he was out fucking anything he could get his hands on trying to prove **he** wasn't the problem. Six mistresses, one wife, no babies before Uncle Jimmy found out.

Mafia code states that Tony should have been killed, but I knew better. Moving from wife to widow as an Italian would have been hell. I would have been required to say prayers for his soul and pretend to mourn him. Dating would have been nearly impossible. No thanks. I took a page from Stephanie Plum Orr's book and made a (quiet) stink.

The beatings Tony received were vicious. I smiled over the broken leg both times. Tony gave me every fucking thing I wanted in the divorce, my (brand-new) car, the house, and all the money in the bank accounts (that he tried to move and hide from me). I had no needs. I made a deal with my uncles: I did the right thing. I married, he cheated. This time, I'm dating and you won't stop me. Otherwise, I leave New Jersey entirely. My mother wasn't having it so my father intervened. I was serious about the threat, he knew it, and he called his brothers off. Just in time; they had another 'husband' lined up for me.

By the time the divorce was settled, I was 26, moving out of the Burg and looking for something to do.

* * *

**Ram's POV**

Steady.

Steady hands, soldier.

I check the scope. Windage. Barometric pressure. Range. Check. Air temperature. Check.

Target is 1500 yards away. There are two vulnerables nearby. One is awake, moving furtively. The other is frightened, watching the door and attempting to distract the target.

I wish Steph would stop. I could get a lock on Scrog if she quit that. At this distance, with this small a field, I can't afford a single mistake.

"Sinclair?" Earbud.

"I can't, sir. She won't stop moving. Also, the minor is awake."

Silence. Ranger's worst nightmare. His daughter will witness his death.

Thirty minutes later, the apartment door opens. Scrog fires. Ranger goes down. Julie fires. Scrog goes down. Steph screams. Julie looks ready to shoot again.

I'm watching this through my scope. I want to take Julie out and buy her a rifle.

Next target.

* * *

My first gun was a .260 Remington. Hunting isn't a passion in Montana. It's an obsession. Everyone has a gun. You're a weirdo if you don't. I remember a kid whose parents moved from Vermont to Montana and he didn't have a gun. His parents believed that guns led to gun violence.

No one in the neighborhood had much to say to them.

As an adult I see their point but I don't. I won't get into the politics of it except to say that people kill people. I can kill you with a spoon if need be. Quit blaming the tool. Blame the person. I don't see a movement to ban spoons.

My father took me out with my .260 for my first deer hunt. I bagged a 10-point deer my first time out. I honestly thought my dad was ready to get me my first drink and my first girl for that achievement. I was only eight. After that, you couldn't keep any kind of ballistic weapon out of my hand. I did all the chores my mom wanted done in order to get rimfire so I could practice. Dad bought me a bow and I learned to fire a long bow and a recurve bow. I even had a boomerang and I'm deadly with it.

Becoming a crack shot is like anything else in the world. Practice, practice, practice. I spent hours in blinds stalking elk, deer, bears, whatever was on during hunting season. It wasn't really about the kill. It was the process. The kill is anticlimactic. It's the end of the fun. Learning to sit still and be patient was the fun part. Knowing that the elk couldn't see or hear me, that I could've killed it an hour ago or 10 minutes ago, that was the skill. That's what I took pride in.

Hitting the target is anticlimactic.

* * *

The Marines consider themselves riflemen first. It's in their ethos, the very founding of their branch. Fine. I'm Army infantry and I'm a crack shot. My superiors noticed. I wasn't a hot head. I never missed. I was patient in a firefight and in a wait and hold position.

"Specialist Sinclair, have you considered Scout Sniper School?"

I'm at parade rest and hiding my happiness. "Sir, yes, sir!"

"Have you applied to attend?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

My reputation got out. My superiors pushed my application forward. The happiest day of my life (so far) was the day I was selected to attend the Marine Corps Scout Sniper School.

The first component of training was marksmanship. This is the part I nearly flunked and the part I take most pride in passing. I hate math, and marksmanship was all about the mathematics, the _physics_ of shooting. I was ready to lose my mind but the longer it went on, the more I understood. They were teaching me the theory behind what I did naturally in the field. By the time we were tested, I was doing the math in my head. I understood the effect temperature had on bullet trajectory. We practiced what we were learning in the range and I was able to apply the mathematics to what I was doing to the field. I got it.

The second component was observation. This was something I honed there. In short, the idea was to quickly sum up a situation in a glance. They would put a tray of objects in front of you, give you ten seconds to look, then cover it and ask you to describe everything you saw. You couldn't just say "rock, paperclip." Oh no, that would get you flunked out. Correct answer? "Gravel, pea-sized, black with white dust covering. Silver, metal wire, bent in two oval shapes."

Anal much? Possibly, but I've spotted skips while driving down the road because I'm always cataloguing. I'm always making a mental map of what I see. I prevented 61 insider burglaries when I was in monitoring because I **always** caught the inconsistencies. Doors latched loosely or incorrect, cabinets and drawers not locked, alarms not set. I prevented another nine insurance frauds because I was always able to show that the owner purposely left the security of the business at risk.

The final component was stalking. This was my childhood all over again and I breezed through this so fast the instructors were astonished. I could lie in the field for hours, for days without appearing to move. The shot was anticlimactic. Learning to stalk/walk was harder but I finally learned how to move silently.

It's a skill I love to practice. Someday Hal will figure out how I do it. In the meantime, I'll think about not sneaking up on him anymore. Last time he screamed like a girl.

* * *

"Captain Mañoso, this is Corporal Sinclair."

I've heard of him. Army Ranger. Legendary. I hope he chooses me. I'd consider working with him the high-point of my military career.

He's looking at me as if to strip my soul. "Not good enough."

My eyes widen. What the fuck!

"You asked for the best. He's better than that."

Damn skippy I am. Mañoso is still looking at me, unimpressed. He turns to the man behind him, a mountain of a man, black, 6'6", 300 pounds of solid muscle. Somehow, Mañoso doesn't even look dwarfed standing next to this guy, even though he's a good six inches shorter.

"¿_Qué te parece_?" (What do you think?)

"_Confiado, inteligente, paciente. Llevete lo a él. Él puede tomar decisions por sí mismo. Usted no tendrá que estar arriba de el." _(Confident, smart, patient. Take him. He can make decisions on his own. You won't have to be on top of him.)

Crap. I understand Arabic but that's Spanish. I haven't been sent south yet so I haven't had to learn it.

Mañoso hasn't stopped looking at me. Finally he nods. "Fine. I'll take him."

I meet the rest of the members of this troop. Santos, Brown, the mountain is LaPierre, and Teigs. Santos is loud and insane but I'm not fooled. I'm being tested and I guess I pass. Brown is quiet but I get the feeling he might be the most dangerous one in this group. Teigs is staring at me calmly.

"Navy SEAL."

"My condolences."

Everyone smiles. Teigs stares at me then nods. "My last partner got shot in the head."

"Again, my condolences. I like my head. I'll keep it down."

"Please do."

Mañoso gives us the scenario. Fallujah. Insurgent cell. My job? Scout. Kill without alerting anyone to my position.

* * *

It was the first time I served with Ranger while on active duty. Teigs died. Ranger took that hard. I took out six of the enemy but Teigs was my spotter. He realized he had a sniper on him just a moment too late.

He failed to keep his head down.

I was two feet away and I couldn't move. Ranger and the team opened cover fire so I could retrieve his dog tags and his body. For the first time in my life, I abandoned position but that was a man's body out there. His life. His eyes open to the sun.

I took out his killer three hours later. I assumed Ranger would never want to see me again but I was wrong.

Tank came to see me. "Good job."

"Man died." I stared into the distance, unwilling to cry.

"Men die. It happens to us all. He died protecting your back. He died a hero and a soldier. Don't cheapen his death."

I looked at Tank and nodded. I understood.

"In war, the heroes always outnumber the soldiers ten to one," he said quietly. He clapped my back (someday, Tank will get a sense of his own strength) and left.

I know now that Tank is the primer. He checks to see if you're ready to have Ranger talk to you. Ranger appeared an hour later. I was cleaning my rifle. He merely nodded for me to follow him.

"Where are you from?"

"Montana."

"Tell me about it."

I looked at Ranger. Are we going to do each other's hair after this, sir? Ranger smiled faintly. "You don't have enough hair for me to style. Tell me about Montana."

It was the first time I was certain Ranger could mind-read.

I started telling Ranger about Montana, the wide open space, the stunning landscape. He listened as I talked. Every time I wondered if I should stop, he looked at me and nodded so I kept going. Finally, an hour later, I was talked out. I was ignoring the tears dripping down my face.

Ranger whirled into my path, forcing me to stop.

"I've never seen anyone with your skills. Steady in a gunfight, good at the details, patient. You laid in the baking heat for hours." Ranger stared at me. "If Teigs had had your training, he would be alive now. You never moved, never fidgeted. I wondered if you were even alive because you never appeared to breathe.

I watched the insurgents. They were panicking because you were picking them off one by one and they couldn't figure out where you were. It was impressive. You were more than a sniper. You were Death, and for a group willing to dish it out, they didn't like taking it."

I smiled faintly.

"Teigs' death is my fault. I was told you were better than the best but I believe in ensuring every man has a partner to watch his back. LaPierre watches my back. I should've allowed you to decide if you needed a spotter. You didn't need him, did you?"

I shook my head no.

"I have another assignment. I'd like you to remain. You choose how to carry it out."

I decided instantly to stay. I would follow Ranger until he left the service. When I left, he invited me to join his company in Trenton.

* * *

We've divided the work again. I'm handling the branch budget while Zip takes care of the bonds enforcement and investigations work. Steph's clearance starts tomorrow. I'm pathetically grateful. Manny's a depressed wreck. I drag him to the gun range every day and force him to practice. He was good before. He's damn near a crack shot now. I start handing him single-action rifles to slow him up and make a mental note to up the rimfire ammunition budget for the year.

I'm not crazy. Steph's been reading the SOPs, cramming them for days. Her eyes are bloodshot and she's nervous. This will never work.

"Yo, Manny."

"Yeah?" Dead eyes. Not good.

"ML called. Large contingent of men in SUVs and all-black outfits just stopped for gas in Bordentown."

Hal walks in with Steph. "I'm hearing the same thing, plus men checking into Homewood Suites in Princeton."

"Yeah, that's what I'm hearing too," Steph says, looking worried. "Mom, Val, ML, Connie, Lula, Gazarra, Grandma, everyone's calling."

"Gazarra?"

She nods. "Trenton PD is wondering if there's some big bust we're doing that they haven't been informed about."

I send a mental finger to all of Trenton PD.

Steph chews her thumb for a moment then calls ML.

"Mary Lou?"

"Hey! Everything OK?"

"I think so. The men you're hearing about . . . "

"RM-ATL silkscreened in the shirts. The guys in Princeton have RM-NYC on their ball-caps."

Talk about making a splash. They need reminders in how to move silently and not leave a trace.

"Thanks ML." _Click_.

Hal looks at me and Manny. We have faint smiles.

"I have a twenty on Tank and Bobby calling them here for Steph's clearance," Manny says.

"They were supposed to clear her. No one else. Just them," Hal replies.

I smile. "Change in plans. Multiple men, different branches, no one could say anything was rigged."

Hal sighs. "Time to call the sneaky bastards." He flips a coin and calls Danny. Coin was unnecessary. The bromance is strong in those two.

* * *

Now we know. Steph's glancing at the SOPs again and I'm done. I can't watch her obsess over this.

"Steph?" I'm in the Lion's Den and I get the usual expression. A combination of annoyance, amusement, and frustration. I smile and she calms down. She knows I love her.

"Put the SOPs away for a night. I'm sacrificing myself. Let's go watch a rom-com."

Bingo! She perks up immediately and she's ready for the movies in minutes. We hit the theatre and watch a Bradley Cooper movie. I swear off any movie with Bradley Cooper after Steph swears I look like him. She laughs and says the difference in the two of us is my eyes are bluer and I know how to shave. I rub my chin and remind myself to get a haircut.

After the movie we go out for an ice cream. Steph looks confused by my willingness to buy her a sugary treat but I asked Ella. Nothing will calm her nerves faster. Steph enjoys her cone and sighs happily. I smile.

Now she's ready.

* * *

Steph's clearance went like a breeze, as we knew it would. The live fire action? Bobby took me to the side and said he wanted me to work on a course of training for men in the company. We need more snipers and if I can teach Steph military tactics at that level, I can teach any man. I grin. Bobby is proud of my work for the company and is asking me to teach more men my skills? This has been my fucking year!

Atlanta and NYC have to go home Friday, so we decide to party like rock stars Thursday night. I googled pictures of Bradley Cooper and gave Steph some credit. My eyes are bluer but I can see that missing a few days shaving may actually help my appearance. I'll give it a shot. I'm in my suit and I've left plenty of buttons open on my shirt. I'm a hairy beast and the look is working. Marcus is laughing and calling me Wolverine. I flip him off. I'm getting laid tonight. Screw him.

I arrange a massive party room in Atlantic City. I ask Candy to work with me on this. We're celebrating the CO's passing, yes, but we're also having a party for toppling Boston. Marcus grins and adds that we're also celebrating Atlanta's crown in bonds enforcement, which makes Zip flip him off. We're **not** celebrating that; Bobby is planning a separate party for them with an open bar. Mack grins and reminds us that NYC has the crown for redecorating. At least I _think_ that's what he said. I understood 'fucking', 'slumlords', and 'redecorating'.

Hal looks ready to scream at the reminders. Candy kisses him and every man wolf whistles at him. Hal, Danny, Candy and Cindy are going out to dinner to celebrate their win and NYC is loaning us some men for the night. Bobby and Tank are handling the bridge overnight. When the NYC men arrive, we'll leave.

I remember to ensure everyone toasts the CO first tonight. She made this possible.

* * *

The girls in Atlantic City know me. I'm here enough, at the tables, losing and winning in equal measure. Vince is grinning. He can count cards and he's slick enough not to get caught at it. We make sure we lose, or break even, enough for the casinos to wonder but not bar us.

We're at the same casino but a bigger room than we were in last time. Junior is grinning. Every man from Trenton, who was at Hal's party, is grinning. The rest of the branch is excited. They know I handled 'talent' tonight and every man is hoping I found another Candy. Hot body, brilliant mind, and hot in the sack. Hal is loved and hated in Trenton. Lucky bastard. If he **ever** fucks up with Candy, most of the men won't allow him a second chance. They'll bury Candy in interest.

Hal isn't Ranger. You'll know pain with Hal. Ranger? Your family will receive word of your death.

The Atlanta and NYC men look unimpressed until the party starts. Then jaws drop, men shuffle in discomfort and Trenton proves once again that **we** reign supreme in all things, including finding top quality talent for an evening's entertainment. The girls here are amazing. I picked a great selection. Blonds, brunettes, redheads, white, black, Hispanic, Asian, there's something for every man's taste. Candy made sure a few of her former colleagues who really need the money are included, but it wasn't pity selection. They're still hot.

We remind the guys these women are professional dancers, not prostitutes. Tip well, remember that sex is **their** prerogative, and don't ruin Trenton's name.

Halfway through the night I assess the room. It's like a Roman bathhouse in the here and we aren't ashamed. We've hidden Junior's pants and he's not ashamed. He's walking around flashing his dick everywhere. We take pictures and send them to Hal; he texts and asks why we think he wants pictures of his partner's dick. He has to look the man in the face tomorrow. Trenton, as a rule, doesn't wear underwear and most of us are down to button downs and smiles. We play much better poker than this but we'll do anything to make it seem like we're losing. Don't want the ladies butt naked and feeling used. We're willing to take a few off for the team.

Military ethics. Yeah, your platoon mate is naked and his dick is on salute. Who gives a fuck? Yours probably is too, so stop looking. Marcus is trying to duck eager fingers (hahaha! Married men. Fraidy cats.) and Mack's looking like he's in seventh heaven.

"Yo, homie, is this how Trenton bruhs really get down? Shit, Imma get you the stacks for my b-day. Handle that!" Mack's completely naked and the chick on his lap is grinning.

I laugh and pass the tequila. I didn't understand shit and I'm in my socks.

* * *

**A/N:** Mack sentence? **Translation**: Is this how the Trenton men party? Damn! I'm going to get you the budget for my birthday party. Organize that for me!

* * *

**Connie's POV**

Vinnie is in his office. Harry just left. The screams of pain were amusing. I called Hal to see if they got that on tape.

Yup.

Ten words exactly. I'm going to break him at some point.

Vinnie is whimpering in pain and Harry merely nodded at me as he left. I nodded back. I know where he's headed next.

If I liked Barnyard, I might warn her but this is 30 years of karma catching up with her ass. She earned every minute of whatever they plan to do to her.

* * *

I start working for Vinnie at Uncle Jimmy's request. He and Harry hate each other and the uncles want to know what is going on in Vinnie's operation. It combines the Plummeris (getting even aka hitmen) and the Scarvettis (loansharking). If Harry is using it to launder money, they want to know.

Getting hired is easy. I just walk in. Lucille is sitting at the counter, doing her nails.

"Vinnie in?"

"You here about the file clerk/office manager job?" I nod. Lucille stares at me and nods. "Congrats. All yours." She hops off the stool, picks up her purse and leaves.

Vinnie walks out 10 minutes later. I'm sitting on the stool filing my nails. He walks right past me without looking.

"Lucille! I need the file on …" Vinnie finally looks up and notices me on the stool. So far I've learned that Vinnie is not observant. "Who the hell are you?"

"Connie Rosolli."

His eyes widen. "Why are you here?"

"I'm your office manager."

"The hell you are!"

"Your wife says different."

Second thing I've learned: Vinnie fears his wife, or at least her dad. He swallows hard. He knows he has a problem now. I'm a different Family and I've been hired by his wife. He's stuck.

"Fine. You know how to do this?"

"Nope. I know how to answer phones and take messages. What else you need?"

"Can you pass a background check?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. I'll teach you everything else."

That's my first day. I sit and answer the phone while he organizes his office and gets things set. Finally, he begins teaching me the ins and outs of running the bonds office. A lifetime as a mobster's niece and a car salesman's wife means I'm just as sneaky as him, so I quickly realize that Vinnie isn't a front for anything. He's a slimy little piece of baggage but the bonds office is successful due to his hard work, a good understanding of people, and his father-in-law's backing. This is meant to keep him busy.

Then I hear about the duck obsession. I don't understand it at first. So male ducks have a corkscrew dick. So what?

Then I learn that excites Vinnie. Twenty minutes later, I see the results.

"Where's the rest of it?" I'm unimpressed. I know Vinnie is Italian, but this is the least impressive dick I've ever seen. Granted, it's dick #2 but still. My ex-husband's biggest virtue was that he lived up to the 'Italian Stallion' stereotype.

"Believe me, it feels better inside." Vinnie grins, moving closer. I smile and push him into his chair. He stands, works his pants down to his ankles, sits back down and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"You wanna keep it?" I smile and lean over him. Vinnie looks nervous but excited. I move swiftly and plunge my nail file into the seat of his chair, centimeters from his dick.

Vinnie pisses himself.

"Wag that at me again and I won't miss."

Vinnie swallows hard. I walk out, leaving the nail file in place. It's the last time Vinnie and I ever discuss his dick.

* * *

On the personal front, dating sucked. I couldn't see why everyone enjoyed it. I guess my good Catholic girl upbringing hadn't worn off yet because I couldn't manage it. My first date after my divorce was at Mancini's. I've learned better since then but he suggested it and I agreed, thinking we'd get great service because everyone knew me. I was all of 26, still kinda innocent and stupid.

We were visited by everyone in the place over the course of the evening. By the time Uncle Jimmy came over to 'chat', I realized what a massive mistake I'd made. Even worse, so did my date. I could see that there wouldn't be a second date.

"Everyone here seems to know you."

I shrugged. "Family restaurant."

"Your family?"

"Yeah." You have no idea how accurate that is.

He looked around. "No offense, but I get the feeling that I'm expected to propose at the end of the evening."

"They wouldn't be disappointed if you did."

That was our last date.

Date two was out of town. Lesson learned? Always drive my own car. I refused to sleep with him and I wasn't letting him finger me just because my half of the date totaled over $100. He left me on the side of US 1.

He was injured in a 'freak' accident and I heard he nearly lost his dick because of the number of infections from the catheter.

Dates 3-15 were similar disasters that taught me various lessons: Always have cash and an extra credit card. Always have a cell phone. Always have a weapon or be prepared to use your purse as a weapon. It's OK to ask what they do. It's not OK to have to listen to their whining/complaining/bragging all night. Bringing your kids on a date is unacceptable. Being late is unacceptable.

I hit 28 and wondered if I'd ever see an orgasm again.

Then I met Michael. Oh god, even thinking of him reminds me of how great he was. I'm not saying I was cynical at that point; I'm saying that I assumed he would be another asshole.

He wasn't Italian. He wasn't from New Jersey. He was a day-trader from Philly who knew how to dance, enjoyed Italian cuisine, and liked long walks at the riverfront. He liked my sexy lingerie and heels.

I immediately warned my family off him.

My mom and dad got hopeful. My sisters were jealous. Michael was everything you could dream of and he adored me. He was great in bed. He didn't have any kids or diseases. He was respectful and patient. He greeted Tony with a fist to the face and my uncles fell in love with him.

Everyone loved him except Tina. She was suspicious and her suspicion kicked off my own. I started noticing little quirks that didn't add up. How was it that someone who was a day trader didn't understand the market? Couldn't give me investment advice right then and had to 'think about it'? Didn't appear to have a day trader account at one of the big websites? Wasn't eating Tums with every market swing?

Still, we dated for three years and I brushed off my doubts. I was starting to think about marriage when Tina set a trap for him with my uncles. She came over and quietly started talking about a Mob hit my uncles had been involved in. I was curious and asked for all the details, so she told me everything.

We met later and she told me that everything she'd told me was fake. Too many of my uncles' low-level soldiers were getting taken in and put away. The Family suspected me. She suspected him and she told my family that I was a Rosolli first. I'd put his ass six-feet under before I sold the Family out. They agreed to set the trap to see if it was me or Michael talking.

I immediately went to my uncles and told them my suspicions. They were disappointed but grateful to see that I was still loyal to the Family. They were willing to forgive me if it were true that he was false.

A month later, the FBI hauled me and Tina in for questioning. My day trader was an undercover agent and my entire house was bugged. I was considered the easy way into the Family; it was clear I was outside the Family business, not connected in any way to their dealings, but still close. I was a niece. I was a way in. Plus, my father might deal to keep me out of jail.

Tina saved us all. I'm 36 and haven't really dated in the past five years. I'm a Rosolli. I'm tainted for life.

No one has ever found Michael's body but, if you listen very closely in the Pine Barrens, you can still hear the sound of his screams. I know where his body is buried. He was screaming my name as he died.

* * *

The gossip about Joyce begins almost immediately. Harry, in conjunction with a few of his pals, bought Joyce's debt from her ex-husband. They presented her with the paperwork in her apartment and told her that she had to start working it off immediately. They weren't waiting for her to land Allen Rusconi. You owe the Mob, you pay the Mob. Joyce starting panicking and trying to negotiate, but by the time Harry and his pals left, Joyce had worked off $80. They didn't consider her that great a lay and decided to price her at her worth.

$14,920, with rapidly accruing interest, to go.

Joyce's Craigslist ad is an embarrassment. I immediately take a screenshot and forward it to everyone I can think of. ML calls immediately.

"Oh my God . . . "

"I know." I'm still grinning at the screen.

"Is that really her rate?"

"Yeah. $100 an hour."

Shocked silence on the other end. "Part of me says I should feel bad—"

"As a woman, knowing that another woman has been forced into prostitution, we should feel bad. One of our best friends is an ex-hooker. But Joyce isn't a woman. She's a leech, a parasite, and a bitch. She's getting hit with a lifetime of bad karma and dirty deeds done to others. She's used her body to make her living her entire life. Now, she's **really** using her body to make her living."

"I know." I hear ML's giggle. "Steph's gonna love this."

Speak of the devil. My phone beeps.

"Hey, my phone just beeped," ML and I say in unison. "OK." I click over.

"Where's Joyce's corner!?" Lula yells, laughing. "You gotta get a picture of that shit for me!"

I laugh. "Let me call you back. ML has Steph. Let's get on one big call."

Ten minutes later, all four of us are on the call. I emailed the Craigslist website address to everyone and we're all staring in shock. Joyce has been posed in her panties and bra, with one of Harry's cronies pulling her hair and holding a riding crop next to her body. She looks like a bad BDSM ad but her rates for all sex work are right next to it.

"I wanna feel bad," Steph says, laughing, "but I can't. She's spent a lifetime trying to ruin me. Now she's getting screwed and, like me, it's personal and she can't do anything about it."

"Well, as the only ex-ho on this call, I'll tell you right now, I don't feel bad. Joyce liked to make me feel like shit. Now she'll understand. Besides, she got priced at $100 a pop. If she's smart, she turns one trick a night for the next year and she's done. She paid off her debt. Shit, if you gotta sell the goods, sell hard."

"Why didn't they just let her be a stipper?" ML asks.

"Who'd you rather look at?" I reply. "Joyce's 30+ year old sagging ass or Candy's 20 year old firm tits and ass?"

We're all quiet. We're all Joyce's age (or older in my case) and with the exception of Steph, none of us is strip pole worthy.

"By the way, Vinnie got it too."

Three gasps. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure yet. He's still crying. I'll let you know when I find out."

I wonder if they corkscrewed his dick.


	7. I Resist the Pressure

**A/N: All errors are mine. One shot prompt from Yllyn and Carol. Hope I did it justice. A special thanks to taniadanoff for providing the French translations used in this one-shot.**

* * *

_I want to wake up every day and do whatever comes in my mind  
__and not feel pressure or obligations to do anything else in my life.—Michael Jordan_

* * *

**I Resist the Pressure**

**Bobby's POV—Age 17**

"And, of course, once Robert finishes Morehouse, he'll continue to Wharton to obtain an MBA. We expect him to take over Wall Street before he's thirty."

I'm slumped in the chair. _Fuck that. Are you kidding me? So I can work the same ridiculous hours you and Dad do? I'd actually like to attend my son's birthday parties. His basketball games. Have some fucking time for him._

I'm stuck in the house with Jacqueline and Geneviève while Mom has her monthly Links committee meeting. My sisters are reading quietly, poking each other on occasion. Each time it's about to spiral out of control, I clear my throat and glare. They stop poking each other and resume reading. The meeting is over and these biddies still haven't left. I wish they'd go. I need to talk to the folks and they're holding up progress.

"Is Robert going to pledge?"

"Of course! His father can't wait for him to join his fraternities. My son will be a wonderful Alpha and, when the time is right, Robert's prepared to induct him into the Boulé."

Now, of everything Mom's said today, this is about the only thing that's been of interest to me. I love my dad's frat brothers. They're cool peeps. I wouldn't mind going Alpha or joining the Boulé.

After the Army.

This isn't going to go over well with either of them. Mom views the Army the same way she views the idea of _her_ children working in fast food. Nice for someone else's son to do but not her son. Her son has more prospects. Her son will follow the plan she's worked so hard to create.

I don't like her plan. I don't want to take over Wall Street. I'd rather go to the Army. I'd rather fight, be a leader, serve my country. My dad did. My grandfather did. Every man in my family going back to the Civil War fought for this country. My turn.

My grandfather will be the only person who understands this. Even Dad won't. He hated his time in the Army because that was Pop's expectation. Dad would go to the Army, serve his time like a faithful Brown, then get out, get married and get a job. Dad saw the Army as putting his acquisition of a law degree behind a few years.

Well, I'm a Brown and I'm not ungrateful for what I have in my life. Thanks to the men of my family, I live at a time where I have options. They fought and died so I could grow up to be the spoiled eldest son of two strivers. My parents are well known in Atlanta in legal and philanthropic circles. My father was just elected to the bench and my mother works in fundraising and public relations. I've had a damn good life. My grandfather reminded me of that this past summer.

"Browns have fought and died for a country you insult without wondering why," Pops said quietly. I was in my 'Black Power, Fuck the Police' rebellious phase and he'd had enough after three days. "Well, you're right. We didn't land at Plymouth Rock. But we've spilled blood for this country just the same as every white American here. OK, so they haven't appreciated our sacrifices. Doesn't mean we didn't make them. And I'll be **damned** if I allow anyone to run me from **my** home, Robert. I'll defend this country to my dying breath because it's my **home**."

He stopped and looked around. I hate summers in LaGrange, but Dad sends me for at least a month every year. We've owned 150 acres there since the end of the Civil War, land deeded to us by my many-times great-grandfather's owner, who was also his father. _Least he could do_ was usually the most charitable thought I had for that particular ancestor. Our family has scrimped, saved, fought, and suffered to keep the entire acreage in the family without a mortgage that entire time. We now lease it out to other farmers since none of **us** want to pick cotton.

"I've been to Africa and I'll tell you, Robert, Africa was **not** home. It's nice for a visit, it's nice to vacation there, but this"—he motioned to the land—"this is home. I'm staying here. I own land, my sons and daughters have grown up here, my parents are buried here and I'm looking at my legacy."

Pops looked me dead in my eyes. "You are my legacy, my eldest grandson. I've done everything in my power to allow you to have choices in **this** country. If you want to leave it, I won't stop you. But you better make sure you know **why** you're leaving. Are you leaving because you want to? Or are you leaving because you're angry and allowing someone to make you run away?"

Pops was fierce. I had to tuck my tail between my legs and reflect on his words. Pops didn't say much to me about it, just handed me the family albums and left me to think.

I left the family home in LaGrange with my mind made up. I'm a Brown. I will carry on tradition because, someday, my grandson will rail against this country without understanding why. And I'll be Pops. I'll have to remind him that Browns don't allow **anyone** to run them from their homes. We fought here. We died here and no, we didn't ask to be brought here but we'll be **damned** if someone runs us away now.

* * *

The meeting finally breaks up and _Mère_ walks in.

"Robert?"

"_Mère_, I need to talk to you and Dad." She frowns. "_Père_." She smiles and nods, satisfied that I'm using the correct terms. It's not unusual for entire conversations to be conducted in French in this house. No nicknames in this family and Mom insists that everyone pronounces my sisters' names in the correct French pronunciation.

I roll my eyes. _Mère_'s post-grad work in France went to her head. Even **my** name is pronounced with a French accent around her.

"_Au sujet de?"_ (About?)

I sigh. I was hoping have this conversation in English. Worth a shot. _"Anglais?"_

A frown. My French is perfect, _Mère_! I've already tested out of French through CLEP. I don't have to take a single foreign language in college if I don't want to!

"Yes, Robert. What does this concern?"

"My future."

She smiles broadly and ushers my sisters from the room. "Wonderful. I've been meaning to speak to you about that. Your father has already spoken to Morehouse's Director of Admissions and you'll go in as a sophomore. You have so many college credits they have no choice." She smiles. "And you thought me unreasonable to require you to take college classes as a senior."

I smile. "No, not unreasonable, _Mère_. Just ruining my opportunity to coast for a year." _Mère_ laughs and I hug her. "_Mère_, I've decided to join the Army."

The laugh stops abruptly and _Mère_ looks at me in horrified disbelief. "This is an extremely unfunny joke, Robert."

"No joke, _Mère_. I want to join the military. I want to carry on the Brown tradition—"

"It was tradition because black men had less prospects. You don't. You have the entire world before you and I intend you take it. I intend that you seize everything available to you and go forward, not backwards. Getting killed in a rich man's fight is not your destiny." She sniffs. "If every congressman had to immediately sign _their_ children up to fight on the **front** lines, there would be far fewer wars."

I sigh. _Mère_ sees everything in monetary terms. "That's not the issue for me, _Mère_." I raise a hand to forestall the inevitable argument. No one interrupts the parents in this household, so you have to be quick. "I'm looking at 150 proud years of family history. The Browns have always fought in the Army. At least one enlistment. Even _Père_. He may have hated it, but he served. He carried on the tradition. I **want** to carry on the tradition. Please don't ask me to be less than the men who have fought to give me the options I have."

_Mère_ slumps. Well, she hints at a slump. Perfect posture rules and there's nothing like a family tradition argument. That stops her in her tracks every time. "And how do you intend to accomplish this and college? ROTC?"

I nod. "I've already taken the ASVAB."

Her eyes narrow. "Which finally explains all the calls we're getting from recruiters to this house."

I wondered why no one was calling. I knew I blew it out of the water. "Yes. I'm actually thinking med school."

Her eyes light up. "Wonderful. My son, a doctor." She has a soft smile on her face and I know she's contemplating how she'll introduce her son, **Dr.** Robert Brown III. Dad walks in on her happy daydreams.

"Emmanuel, Robert is thinking of med school."

Dad is looking at me with amusement. "Meharry or Harvard?"

"Haven't decided."

"Specialty?

"Haven't decided."

He looks at my mother. "He's screwing with you." He looks at me. "What are you really thinking?"

"Med school. I just haven't decided a specialty. Once I decide a specialty, then I can decide on the correct school."

Dad thinks for a moment, then nods. "Correct order."

"Emmanuel, Robert has something else to tell you." _Mère_'s nose has scrunched as if she smells something incredibly nasty. Dad looks at me, concerned.

"I'm enlisting."

"No, you're not."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Yes, I am. I intend to go ROTC at Morehouse."

My father is looking at me in extreme disbelief, but after a few moments he puts his 'lawyer' face back into place. "Why?"

"Brown tradition and it's a proud one. This is my choice. I've not spoken to _Grand-père _ about this. This is my decision."

My father slumps into an armchair and my mother turns to me, reproachful, eyes pleading with me to change my mind. Nope.

I've made up my mind. I'm a Brown. I come from a proud tradition. I'm going to serve my country.

* * *

**Five Years Later**

I enjoyed undergrad. I was in and out in three years. Girls in the AUC followed me around everywhere because I'm handsome, well-dressed, and cut. Hell, girls in Atlanta followed me because I'm handsome, I drive a late-model Mercedes, and I'm smart. I strip my shirt and football players are ignored. I made Alpha with no problems; everyone wanted the 'stud' in their frat and the fact that I'm legacy made my entry into Alpha a breeze. I'm considered husband material but I'm not looking in that direction. Not right now and no one, not even _Mère_, is going to tell me otherwise.

I took time to show my sisters exactly what men will do when they only want some tail and aren't interested in you past one night. Jacqueline called me a dog until she realized how right I was. She went to a frat party shortly after she entered Spelman. The guy tried to get her drunk and only the fact that she mentioned that she was my sister kept her upright with her panties on.

She left that party shaking and crying. I told her I wasn't about to go confront the guy. Hell, he was me. He pulled the exact same shit that I would, minus the alcohol. I don't need to get a girl drunk to get her hot. I reminded Jacqueline that every girl I slept with was someone's sister or cousin. If she didn't want to be a notch on a bedpost, keep her legs closed and don't try to pick up guys at a frat party. We're animals and we're after the lowest common denominator: ass.

I went back to my dorm and punched the Kappa out. One thing to sleep with a girl because she's cute. Another to get her drunk, lower her inhibitions and take advantage. Aside from the fact that she was my sister, that shit could have easily been rape and his dumb ass would be sitting in jail. Our chapter would be suspended because it happened at our party. My frat brothers, the Alphas, got the idea. They left Jacqueline (and later, Geneviève) alone. Geneviève reported that by the time she started at Spelman, the Alphas considered her their little sister and chaperoned her everywhere. She barely got to date.

I was known as a great guy because I don't talk and I'm good in bed. Jacqueline rolled her eyes at that part but, again, girls talk. She heard the truth of that quickly enough. She was disgusted to find out I'd been around that many blocks, **that** many times, but I'm discreet. She learned from other girls, not me. A girl sleeps with me for a good time and knows that when she leaves my room, unless she gets caught, her reputation will remain intact. My discretion has driven more women to my room than my frat brothers bragging.

I finally made up my mind about my career path during my second (junior) year of college. I decided to go to IPAP, the Interservice Physician Assistant Training Program. I won't be a doctor, but I'll be pretty damned close, and it's actually a better fit for me. I don't have to spend years in med school. I won't have to lose my mind doing rotations or trying to decide on a specialty. Physician Assistants can work in clinics, hospitals, and doctors' offices. I'm useful in the field in the Army and immediately employable once I leave. Combined with my 68W, it's perfect for me.

I did everything I could in order to qualify. It's a tough program to get into, but my grades, my (admittedly thin) service record, my SAT and ASVAB scores, and my commitment to the program helped. It also helped that I qualified as an EMT and did volunteer work in hospitals. I chose my MOS, 68W Health Care Specialist, because it qualified me for Ranger school. I'm basically an EMT, a Combat Medic.

I was a busy motherfucker in college but it's paid off.

I'm 1LT Brown, bachelors from Morehouse, masters from the University of Nebraska. My commissioning went off like a breeze. My parents were all smiles when I was pinned but Pops had tears in his eyes. He was beyond proud. Unlike his son, I went to the Army gladly and I enjoyed every minute of ROTC.

I keep racking up titles and honors but, for me, it's the sheer exhilaration of what I'm doing. I really **enjoy** everything I'm doing. My decisions, my choices in life. Some good, some bad, but no one is telling me what to do. Or, more correctly, I listen to the counsel of others but I choose my own path. I resist the pressure to follow my parents' plans. I was amused to go home on leave and find my mother filling out applications to medical school for me.

I've told no one of my intention to enter Ranger school except Pops, and he heartily approves. I'm lucky. This was a tough decision. At the moment, I already owe Uncle Sam four years of my life. That means I'm in, at minimum, until I'm 26. 28 is my max. I want out before I'm thirty to explore my own goals in life, but there's something about the structure of the military that keeps me in.

LaGrange is just north of Columbus and I've been here, at the family homestead, during the summers and during all breaks in training. I've been wearing the 65lb. rucksack and running for miles. I've learned to dive and swim with no air. I came home three weeks ago and found Pops had done the research and built an elevated log walk for me to attempt to cross. I'm not the greatest at heights but I conquer the fear learning to run across it. Chase is watching me and shaking his head. He starts high school in the fall and he's resisting the familial pressure to follow my path. Chase is thinking about the police academy and Pops is pleased with that too. As long as we learn to serve and protect at some point in our lives, he's happy.

I consistently gain 20 pounds during breaks then work it off trying to reach Ranger school fitness minimums. The day I hit 90 points on everything I have a mental party. Ranger school requires you to have a minimum of 80 points in everything at the 17-21 age group but you have to cross RAP and survive.

I gain 20 pounds and do my final checks.

RAP starts in three days.

* * *

RAP week in Ranger training. The hardest, most intense part and this is day three. 60% of the failures occur in this week. This one week separates the men from the boys and I'm in the battalion with the joke master.

Thank god for it.

"I have hot coffee and doughnuts over here, men. No shame if you drop! If you can't handle this, you can ring the bell and no one will say a word."

I've been thinking about it for the past hour. I'm ten seconds from dropping when I hear "You'll get over there and find it's black sludge and the same doughnuts they had four Ranger classes ago."

It's whispered, but every man within hearing stiffens. It's was the right fucking thing and the right damn time. I look over toward the commenter from the corner of my eye.

Santos.

I swear, he's kept me from dropping three times now. I see him looking at me and he smirks, quickly, before schooling his face again.

I've found my RB, my Ranger buddy.

* * *

Downtime is short and sweet. Just enough time to think about eating. I haven't eaten in a full day and I'm starting to feel dizzy. Low blood sugar. This is dangerous but this is Ranger training. Gotta push on past this feeling. I rip the MRE open and eat like a dog. Whatever makes it on my face will get wiped into my mouth later. I'd feel ashamed except I'm not the only man eating like this. Whatever works and, oddly enough, we've learned this from Santos. He looked at all of us, eating dainty, and snorted. "Better wolf that shit down quickly gentlemen."

Santos is a fount of information. Half of us wonder if he's recycling.

"Santos!" We look over. The Ranger Instructor is looking at him with a stunned look on his face. "Are you related to Mañoso?"

"Shit!" he mutters. "Sir, yes, sir," he replies.

The RI looks at him, nods, and walks off. We all look over. Santos shrugs. "My cousin. Four Ranger classes ago. Apparently, a fucking genius. Darby, Puckett, the whole fucking shebang." His shoulders slump. He finishes his MRE, hefts his pack, and gets back into ready position.

Well, an answer to how he knows so damn much. He got his information from the source.

* * *

I like Santos. He's a fucking fool and he's great for morale. We've had less men drop from our squad because the moment we consider it, Santos will drop some innocent comment and everyone's back stiffens. We're going to make it.

The bastard is a natural born leader. First through the door, first to check that everyone made it, last to drop in exhaustion. The RIs are riding his ass harder than anyone else because of his 'legendary' cousin and he's rising to the occasion, mostly by ignoring it. I'm checking men and injuries, trying to make sure everyone's OK. We had the hand to hand combat and that's the only time someone's bested him so far. I drop Santos's ass like a rock. Jujitsu and Karate as a kid and teen (and ballet as a kid, but I'll **never **cop to that) and Krav Maga during college. I'm deadly with and without a weapon. He looks stunned that someone actually took him down.

It was the first time the RIs looked at **me** in shock. Santos had been blowing everything out of the water until that point.

I'm finally reaching that point, mentally, where I'm coasting along. Oh, it's grueling and I'm in pain, but I'm no longer thinking of quitting. I'm in a good headspace. Tonight we have the 16 mile march to Camp Darby through the Georgia woods for the official beginning of Ranger school. I slide close to Santos.

"Double socks."

He looks at me and I nod. He strips his boots fast, dives into his duffel and puts on another pair of socks. Every man is watching him and they repeat the action. We stand, ready to march, and he looks at me.

"How did you know?"

"I know these woods. Watch out for snakes."

First time I've seen actual fear on Santos's face. I've found his weakness.

Snakes.

* * *

Graduation day. It's over. It's finally fucking over and I'm thrilled. I made it and so did my RB, Santos. We took the option to parachute in. It was the best fucking moment, landing and hearing my family in the stands cheering me.

Santos wins the Darby Award and not a single man here begrudges it to him. He was the heart and soul of this class. Every man in this Ranger class is here because, at one point or another, Santos said something to him that forced him to keep going. Add in that the bastard is a tactical genius and it's a small surprise. He's a brilliant commander and tactician. I hope to serve with him.

"Brown, Robert. Ralph Puckett Award."

I look up, stunned. That's the second highest award, the honor award for officers. The men cheer for me and I stumble forward to accept it. The applause is deafening and I'm nearly overcome.

Thank God for Santos.

"You cry and I'm renaming you 'Bitch'."

Jackass. I grin at him. Thanks, man.

When it's time to be pinned, Pops steps forward to pin me. Again, I see the tears in his eyes. I've upheld the family honor, by choice, and become the most elite of soldiers. I see the family cheering for me in the stands and I stand at attention as I'm pinned. Pops hugs me and I rub his back.

"Thank you, sir."

"No, Robert. This honor is all yours. You wanted it. You earned it." He looks down. "How are your feet?"

"Aching, sir." He chuckles.

Santos is shocked to see his cousin step forward to pin him. All of us look over. This is the infamous Carlos Mañoso? Holy hell. We all fall silent and watch Mañoso pin Santos then snap to attention and salute his cousin. Santos swallows hard and repeats the action.

Being saluted by his cousin means a lot and these guys are barely a year apart in age. I'm happy for him.

Mañoso looks toward me and nods. "Brown?"

"Yes."

"Congrats. Heard a lot about you in Lester's letters. Soul of the class, I hear."

"Incorrect. That honor belongs to your cousin."

Mañoso snorts. "Funny bone of the class, I'm sure." He looks at Santos. "Tactical genius, brave fucker, man most likely to leave you with wet shorts from some shit he said."

I smile. "Correct."

He grins, captures Santos in a headlock, and rubs his head.

Funniest shit I've ever seen. We all crack up.

"Lessie, you made it! Aww …"

We're dying of laughter. Lessie? Les is red but grinning. Mañoso lets him go and accepts a punch good-naturedly. He looks at us critically. "You both dropped at least 30 pounds."

I'm surprised he can tell but he grins. "My RB, LaPierre, dropped 35. Fucker is 6'6" and damn near 300 pounds. His momma almost didn't recognize him."

I laugh. Pops smiles. He pats me on the back. "I'll leave you with your Army buddies for a moment."

I snap to attention and salute him without thinking. Pops looks amazed and I peek from the corner of my eyes.

Mañoso and Santos are saluting him too.

* * *

Mañoso invites me and Santos to recover in Louisiana with him and his RB LaPierre. I accept without a second thought and, after a moment's hesitation, so does Santos. We're packing when I look at him.

"Why hesitate?"

He sighs. "You don't know Carlos. Exacting fucker and I've been graded against him all my life. I'm sick of it."

I look at him and place a hand on his shoulder to force him to look at me.

"Your parents and your family have graded you against him all your life. Don't take on their battles and petty squabbles. You two are men now. Judge your cousin for yourself. Don't allow them to pressure you into not liking him." I clap his shoulder and pack the rest of my things. "Besides, at the moment, we're getting downtime with two men who have been through this. No need to ignore a perfectly good invitation. If he asked you to come to Louisiana with him, then he knows something you don't."

Santos looks at me, sighs, and nods. "OK. Good point. Ric does **nothing** without a reason."

My family is stunned I'm not coming back to Atlanta with them but I hold firm. I've been invited by other Rangers to hang with them. I get the feeling I'm about to learn something I haven't been taught.

"Let him go," Pops says firmly. My parents look at him and he nods. "He's not a boy. He's a man. He can go where he pleases."

_Mère_ clenches her jaw and nods. "Fine." She steps forward to kiss me. "But I do expect to see you home soon." The gleam in her eyes tells me the med school applications are waiting. _Sigh_. We've already had that discussion but _Mère_ refuses to give up.

"Of course, _Mère_." I kiss my sisters, shake my dad's hand and head to Mañoso's car. It's a Honda Accord, black, and he's got the air conditioning running. I stash my gear in the trunk. Santos is already asleep in the backseat. I climb into the backseat with him and Mañoso looks at me in the rearview.

"Seven hours to Carencro, Louisiana. Take a nap."

No need to tell me twice. I knock the fuck out.

* * *

I wake to the sounds of fussing.

"Lord help, Carlos! Those boys look half dead and starved. They look as bad as you two did at the end of Ranger training."

Fuck. Mañoso and his RB must be strong. I'm no lightweight but I'm not in the car anymore. I'm in a bed. A nice, soft, comfortable bed. Smells nice. Like women. Great, an erection. My body is on a hair-trigger to any stimuli.

"They just finished Ranger training." Different voice. Barry White level. A short pause. "About 24 hours ago."

"Sweet Jesus." It's said in a breathless whisper. "Thelma, Chenae, come on. Let's go get those boys food. We'll be back."

I sit up, dazed, and look over. Santos looks as groggy and confused as I do. Mañoso walks in with a mountain of a man. He wasn't joking about his best friend. Fucker is huge and ripped. He's all muscle. I can see how we got out of the car without waking now.

"Good to see you two pansies finally woke up," the giant says. He reaches out a hand. "Tank. Don't call me by any other name."

"Got it." I shake his hand then shake my head. "Brown. Robert." Thank God, the erection's gone. Never lost one that fast.

"Nickname?"

"Bobby."

Mañoso nods. "Ric. Les, you awake over there?"

"Yeah."

"OK, shower as best you can. At least get the first layer of dirt off." I look at Santos, who waves for me to go. I stand and make my way to the bathroom. I have no urine to release (dehydration? That's never happened before) and take a shower. I'm pretty sure I'm using all the hot water. Eventually, the shower curtain opens behind me and I turn around.

Santos is naked and irritated. "You've been in here 10 minutes. Move before we're out of hot water."

There are some things college and the military have prepared me for, but until that moment I'd never really been comfortable being naked around any man. Southern modesty. I'm in a towel until I slide into my boxers. Amazing the things Ranger training will force you to accept. I step out of the tub, Santos gets in and, for the first time in my life, I couldn't care less that I've seen this man butt naked. I'm too fucking tired to care and so is he.

I walk out of the bathroom naked (well, might as well go whole hog into this nudity thing) and find Ric standing there with clean clothes and a razor. I stare at them blankly.

"They're yours. We did your laundry. Put them on quickly. There are two minor girls who live in this house. Tank's younger sisters. No need for them to learn the facts of life too soon and one is the nosiest teenager you've ever met." He grins and leaves.

The cousins share the same warped sense of humor. I slide into my clothes and wait for Les. He comes out naked and collapses on the bed. I toss a pillow on top of his dick and he smiles.

"Thanks."

"Apparently the mountain has sisters."

He barks a laugh and rubs his chin. We both need to shave. "Then little Les needs his cotton covers."

"That's what you call him?" I pretend to consider then nod. "Right name for him."

"Just when I thought I liked you."

"Yeah yeah, I've seen your dick today. You've seen mine. Let's stop the budding bromance right there."

I hear a chuckle outside the door and look over. Ric and Tank enter, red faced and trying not to laugh.

"Too late. It's full blown. You'll be getting tattoos next," Tank says, tossing Les his clothes. "My sisters are twelve and sixteen. I'd rather the teenager not get hot over naked men. Besides, you two are the sorriest specimens I've ever seen."

Les pulls on his clothes and we walk into the living room. It's a small but comfortable house and there are pictures of the family on all the walls. I step closer to a few and look. Pierre? No, can't clown him over that today. Wait until I really know the man. Then I'm joking for days.

I step into the kitchen and Les is already sitting at the table. There's a full breakfast laid out. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, OJ, and he's tearing into it like it's the last meal. Within seconds, so am I. I've never tasted anything so good and the moment something runs low, Tank puts more of it in front of our faces.

We eat for an hour straight. No shame. Tank's mother and sisters have returned and they serve as short-order cooks, which makes me uncomfortable. As soon as I'm done, I step over to Mrs. LaPierre.

"Ma'am?"

She turns to me, smiling. "Yes, Bobby?"

I smile at her. Her smile contains all the joy a good person has in the world. "Mrs. LaPierre, I don't want to be rude in saying this, but please allow me to repay some of your hospitality. I'm a grown man eating you out of house and home. That makes me uncomfortable. Please allow me to do the dishes or perform some work in your home."

"I agree," Les says from behind me. Tank and Ric have blank faces on. "We're eating you out of house and home and forcing you to go buy extra food. We don't want to impose. We can cook and clean for ourselves, ma'am, or at least compensate you for the food."

She laughs. "Oh, yo mommas raised you right." She smiles indulgently. "Another trip, Bobby, Lester. We'll talk about it then. But I remember how thin those two looked when they came home from Ranger school." She points at Tank and Ric. "Y'all need to put some weight back on your bodies and relax. Don't worry. I'll leave y'all in peace. And you can call me Mrs. Carol Jean."

She pats both of us on our cheeks and bustles off to the bedroom Les and I are sharing. I look over at Tank.

"Look, it was really kind of you to invite us to your mother's home, but I'm really going to have a problem if she doesn't allow me to do something—"

He raises a hand. "We'll take care of cleaning and cooking. You recover." He grins. "The fact that you offered pleased my mother. By the way, you refer to her as Mrs. Carol Jean."

* * *

We spent two weeks in Louisiana. Food porn took on a new meaning. Literally. Les and I would wake up in the middle of the night, staring/salivating at McDonald's commercials and, like magic, Ric would walk through the door with Double Cheeseburgers or Big Macs. We drooled over KFC commercials while eating ice cream and Cracker Jacks and Tank would appear with massive salads with grilled chicken or ribs and potato salad. We ate Hershey's Kisses like M&Ms while staring at Fiber One cereal, the nastiest cereal I'd ever eaten before Ranger school. After? I didn't give a damn. It was food. Ric and Tank were fucking food genies and we loved them for that. I pledged allegiance to them for never running out.

We learned to turn the TV off. I can't stand junk food now. I overdosed once in life and that did it.

I'd never really had gumbo, jambalaya, or any Louisiana specialties (Three guesses on preferred cuisine in my childhood home?) and I fell into a deep and abiding love for Mrs. Carol Jean. She occupies a special place in my heart for insisting on fattening us up. She took it as a personal challenge to put the weight back on us. She cooked, we ate. We heard her laughing one night and found Lester in the kitchen, literally licking the gumbo pot clean.

I was pissed I didn't think of it first. Ric and Tank collapsed on each other, laughing. Apparently Ric had done the same thing.

Ric and Tank had us in the shower twice a day. Our bodies were still in fat burning mode and we stank. I'm surprised Thelma and Chenae found us interesting at all, but I guess the fact we were sitting around in our PT shorts was enough for them. I went looking for my rucksack to find they'd tossed my grungiest stuff, the non-salvageable socks and pants, the funkiest underwear, the non-resoleable boots. The girls were giggling and pointing as Tank used tongs to pinch items and toss them into the garbage bag Ric held. Les and I shot him the finger. We were rained on for 36 of our 61 days. What did they expect? Apparently, they expected that. They returned from the commissary at Fort Polk with replacements for everything they tossed. We were stunned. I looked at Les.

"Now, who would have told us about any of this?"

Les shrugged. "No clue. You think Mrs. Carol Jean left any of that étouffée in the fridge?" He wandered off in search of a snack. I stared after him.

I'd eaten the last of the étouffée and half the KFC bucket, all the green beans and I left Les one biscuit. Hunger is a bitch.

Basic PT was not being given a miss. On day two, they elevated our feet and rubbed them, checking them over. Pain. That's all I remember about the experience. Unrelenting pain.

"Take care of your feet. Seriously. You two had a case of trench foot ready to break out," Tank said, releasing my feet. "No running, no swimming, no socks. Gotta let your feet heal." He led us through pushups, sit-ups, and chin-ups. Tank and Ric got a pass to a local gym and we hit the rowing machines and ellipticals. I checked my weight on my second to last day in Louisiana.

I was damn near back to my normal weight. Two weeks of insane eating and I'd _nearly_ gained the twenty pounds back.

* * *

Somehow, we found ourselves attached to Ric's platoon as active Rangers. Les swore Ric engineered it. I was amused.

"I would, if I were him." Les looked over. "Your cousin is a natural born leader but, between the two of you, you're the tactician. You're the one with the brilliant plan to get in and out. Your cousin can inspire men to follow him and his orders into hell, but he needs a game plan. He's good but he recognizes you're much better."

Les stared at me. I shrugged. "I'm still trying to figure out my reason for being in his platoon, besides the fact that I have the medical training and I was your Ranger buddy ."

"You can pick an idea to death," Les said, snorting. "I'm good only because you pick off the more insane parts of my ideas."

"I like life," I replied simply.

It took time (read: our entire time as Rangers) for Les to accept he's both equal and opposite to his cousin. Ric, I quickly learn, is not a man given to excessive praise. He gives praise but it's low-key and heartfelt. No effusions, no excess. Just simple facts and, somehow, that makes his praise more meaningful. He never blows smoke up your ass.

Les later admitted that he remembered every one of Ric's words on Graduation Day. I search my memory. _Tactical genius, brave fucker, good for morale._

* * *

"_Mère_ is looking for you." Jacqueline. Married, pregnant with baby two, and as meddlesome as _Mère_.

"Why?"

"You've missed Boule meetings. You're 'paper' in Alpha. You have yet to go to medical school."

"I doubt Uncle Sam cares."

"We don't have an Uncle Sam. You served the US Government, which is nice, but _Mère_ is ready to brag on her son the doctor. That was the only reason she agreed to your scheme to go to the military. When are you going to med school?"

Never. RangeMan is a going concern. We're here to look at our partners' Atlanta branch. They're recommending we keep it and I've already called it as my home branch if we do. Too close to _Mère_ and her plans but I'm a grown-ass man now. She can give up trying to manipulate me into doing what she wants. I love my mother but she's ambitious in the way Hatshepsut was 'nervy'.

"I own a business, Jacqueline. I'm busy doing my own thing."

"_Mère_ has expectations—"

"_Mère_'s expectations are not my destiny. Bye, sis." _**Click**_.

I snort. Just because you followed her path doesn't mean I will.

We transfer the Atlanta branch into our names three months later. _Mère_ finds out in the convoluted way that people in Atlanta do things and calls 28 hours after the license is filed.

"Robert?"

"_Mère_?"

_"Tu as ouvert une entreprise à Atlanta? Pourquoi n'ai-je pas été informée?"_ (You've opened a business in Atlanta? Why wasn't I informed?)

_"Parce que je n'ai pas l'intention d'utiliser mes relations d'affaires à la recherche d'une femme pour moi ou pour essayer de concevoir ma vie. J'ai 30 ans, Mère, un homme adulte, capable de faire mes propres choix de vie. Je n'ai ni besoin ni envie de votre ingérence dans ma vie. "_ (Because I don't intend that you use my business dealings to search for a wife for me or try to engineer my life. I'm 30, _Mère_, a grown man, capable of making my own life decisions. I neither need nor want your interference in my life.)

There's a shocked silence on the on the other end of the phone. The guys are also looking at me in shock. I've never spoken to anyone, much less my mother, in this manner but I know _Mère_. If I don't put a stop to it right now, she'll start parading eligible women in front of me.

_"Je ne me mêle pas de ta vie, Robert."_ (I do not meddle in your life, Robert.) This is said stiffly. I can expect a phone call from _Père_ tonight.

"_Vraiment? Toutes mes excuses, Mère. Pourquoi avez-vous appelé?"_ (Really? My apologies, _Mère_. Why did you call?)

Silence. Now she's stuck and my apology wasn't as contrite as she expected, so clearly I'm not really sorry over what I said.

_"Eh bien, il ya des obligations familiales à remplir et je suppose que, puisque tu habites maintenant dans la région, tu pourrais peut-être passer du temps avec la famille et assister à certaines d'entre elles."_ (Well, there are family obligations to be fulfilled and I assumed that, since you were local, you might perhaps spend time with the family and attend some.)

I pull my calendar and take a quick look. I snort. Yeah, high society season in Atlanta. _"Très bien"_ (Fine.) I look at the guys and grin. Three slowly dawning looks of horror spread across their faces. _"Je vais amener mes partenaires d'affaires."_ (I'll bring my business partners.)

_"C'est entendu alors. Venez à mon salon cet après-midi."_ (OK. Come to my salon this afternoon.) _Click_. I look at all of them. They're looking at me murderously.

"Time to break out the suits, gentleman. _Mère_ is the ultimate test."

* * *

We're seated in the living room. It's like being at auction and Ranger is looking at me as if he can't wait to break me. Les too. Tank is amused. This is the other side of black culture and I can **see** him thinking, "Too bad Chenae can't see this. They're bougie to the extreme."

_Mère_ air kissed all of us and frowned at my dreads. She hates dreads, thinks they're common. She sniffed me quickly, but I still smell like Varvatos, not weed. She gave us all the once-over quickly, accepted a hug from Les (whom she adores), and head nods from Ranger and Tank (she likes them, especially Tank) and led us to our nooses.

"Marguerite! My son, Robert." I hear a snort behind me. French pronunciation of my name. "He and his business partners have opened a branch here in Atlanta."

"Really?" I remember Mrs. Stanton. Three daughters, if I remember correctly.

I perform the polite air kiss. The guys are gonna ride my ass tonight. "Mrs. Stanton, a pleasure to see you again. How is Alicia?" Daughter closest in age to me and I was her escort when she was a debutante. _Mère_ and Mrs. Stanton beam, happy that I remember her. Hard not to. First, last, and only pregnancy scare. After that, condoms and I were **best** friends.

"She's doing wonderfully. Working at Bank of America, in Charlotte, climbing the ranks. Busy busy busy, but I'm sure she'd _love_ to see you again." This is said with an especially warm smile and I'm certain, at that moment, _Mère_ has already broadcast my approximate net worth across the room. I'm also certain she's a few million short.

This is why I can't use my own father as my lawyer. He and _Mère_ have **no** secrets when it comes to their children.

"How are you? Your mother tells us you became an elite Ranger warrior in the Army and you now own a business. You make your mother proud." They smile indulgently at each other.

I'm not calling Alicia. If I do that, they'll start planning the wedding. Damn shame. Alicia was hot.

I smile. "Thank you. Yes, I served as an Army Ranger and I've opened a business with my Ranger buddies." Everyone is listening now and my mother is in seventh heaven. Her son is the biggest success: cultured, urbane, and a prosperous business owner. Exactly what she wanted her children to be, even if I (gag) served in the Army instead of becoming a Marine. If I had to serve, she would have preferred the Marines or the Air Force. Better uniforms.

_Mère_ amuses me. I like to think of myself as a relatively simple guy, but time around _Mère_ reminds everyone of my background. Les is going to ride my ass for hours about this tonight.

I turn to the guys, who have their blank faces in place. "Ladies, my business partners. Lester Santos, my Ranger buddy, Carlos Mañoso and Tank LaPierre."

A frown from _Mère_. "I've been meaning to ask, Tank, is that your legal name?"

"No, but I'm not fond of my legal name."

"Which is?" Silence from Tank. "It cannot be that bad."

"Pierre." I'm riding **him** for succumbing to _Mère_ later.

_Mère_'s eyes light up. "Pierre! Oh how beautiful and appropriate," she says, cocking her head to the side. "Means 'rock' and I understand from Robert that you are definitely the 'rock' of the group."

Tank gives her a small smile. "Yes, ma'am." I can see the mental cringe.

_Mère_ parades all of us around her 'salon' for the next three hours. We're all handsome eligible bachelors with a thriving business, the kind of men these women adore. The guys like my mother, but they know she's loving but ambitious. They're always amused by her. We leave when the party starts getting crowded, ie. the unmarried daughters start showing up. The guys collapse in the back of my Mercedes and groan.

"Oh, stop your whining. That was my childhood, guys. You only had three hours of it."

They laugh. Ranger looks at me with a half-smile on his face. "No interest in marriage, huh?"

"Show me the woman who would meet _Mère_'s exacting standards." I shrug. "I'll marry the woman **I **want, but god knows _Mère_ will pick at her until she screams unless I pick someone from that crowd."

That's not to say I'm dismissing any of those women. They all grew up like I did, with the same pressures and expectations. It's just that **I** will decide who I marry and _Mère_'s standards are not the same as mine.

Les groans. "I thought we were beyond parental pressure at this point."

Tank snorts. "Yeah right. Mrs. Brown now knows my true first name **and** it's French. You think she'll ever refer to me as anything else?"

I hit I-20 back to RangeMan Atlanta with the sounds of hysterical laughter in my car. I hit Atlanta traffic and we sit in silence for a few minutes, smiling.

"Honestly, I want a woman like _Mère._" The guys look at me in surprise but I nod. "My mother's sole ambition for her children was excellence. No slacking accepted. To quote Yoda, 'Do or do not. There is no try'." The guys chuckle but I know they agree. It's our motto. "Nothing in between and that's been the principle I've lived my life by. An unrelenting commitment to excellence. I don't see anything wrong with my mother's ambition. My mother's ambition yielded a happily married stockbroker, a happily married corporate lawyer, and a still-single businessman. That's not bad. What's wrong is when she attempts to force me to allow her ambition to supersede my decisions in life and, luckily, I've never allowed that to happen."

"Never?"

I shake my head. "Never. Even Morehouse, which was her decision, was also my choice. I had other choices but I went where I wanted. I went to the Army. I became a Ranger. I decided not to go to med school. My choices in life. That's what makes me so careful about the women I date. I want a woman who can stand up to _Mère_, be as strong as _Mère_, because I'm not running interference between my mother and my wife. That's why I'd never marry most of the women I know. _Mère_ would run all over them."

"Any other options?" Tank asks quietly.

"Not yet. Still looking and enjoying myself while I find the right one."

"Smart," Ranger says.

I merge onto I-75 and turn on the air conditioning. "I love my mother. She's always been supportive, understanding, and loving. I still ask for my parents' guidance when I need it and, let's be real, the few times we decided to take R&R here in Atlanta instead of Louisiana, my mother was a champ."

"That's true," Ranger says, smirking. "God knows she hovers just as much as Mrs. Carol Jean." Tank thumps him in the head and we all laugh.

"Exactly. I love my mother. I just resist the pressure to live according to **her** goals in life."


	8. I Live in His Shadow

**A/N: Because Les has gotten so little love from me, his one-shot will have two parts!**

**All conversations among the family are in Spanish.**

* * *

**I Live in His Shadow**

"_Being his real brother I could feel I live in his shadows . . . "_

**Les's POV—Age 6**

"It's easy, Ric. I'll sneak in and put the forks in the fridge. Then I'll grab the flan from the countertop and come back here. You go grab Kool-Aid for both of us and get the forks from the fridge and come back."

Ric is looking at me in confusion. "And this will work because?"

"Because Papa comes home every day at 5 :00. _Mamí_ and _Abuela_ will be more interested in talking to him than paying attention to us . The flan will be ours. All they'll remember is that we both got something from the fridge."

"Dinner's at 6 :00," Ric points out. "We could just wait until then."

"Less flan for both of us." I glare at him. "Only this time, no confessing!" Last time, Ric confessed we stole dessert. I couldn't sit comfortably for a week and I didn't get any dessert for a month.

I see Ric consider this. Flan is our weakness and it's honestly the only bribe I have to get Ric to play along with me sometimes. He'll do nearly anything for flan.

Finally he nods. "OK, I'm in."

At 4:55, I go to the kitchen and grin at _Abuela_. "_Abuela_, do you have something good for me?"

She laughs, tweaking my nose. "I might. You like flan?"

"I _love_ flan!" I do a little dance and my mom, my tía Maria and my _abuelas_ laugh. "Are we having flan for dinner?"

"No, we're having _ropa vieja_ for dinner. Flan for dessert. Can you wait that long?"

I sigh exaggeratedly. "Noooooo!" They laugh. "I want flan now."

"Well," _Tía_ Maria says, "perhaps if you're a very good boy, and patient, we'll give you a bigger piece after dinner."

Papa and tío Ric both step through the kitchen door smiling. While they all say hello and talk, I quickly move the flan to the fridge, stash the forks inside, then move with the flan out of the kitchen into the dining room. I quickly break for the front door, down the steps and around the corner to my secret hideout. Ric's eyes widen when he sees me with the flan.

"You got it," he breathes, surprised.

"Of course I did," I reply smugly. "Your dad came home with mine. Go say hello and get the forks and Kool-Aid."

He takes off for the house and I settle back in my personal corner of the shed that I call my secret hideout. Within minutes, Ric's back with the forks. We dig in and we're soon stuffed and happy. We debate who makes better flan, my _abuela_ or his, before deciding it doesn't matter. We have flan, a warm sunny day, and each other. That makes life good.

This is how we spend summers. I live in Elizabeth, Ric in Newark, and we spend weekends and summers together. Usually it's Ric's job to come up with the idea and my job to come up with the plan. We execute together. The neighbors never catch us and we have fun all summer. The entire neighborhood is my playground and Ric is my cousin and best friend. Alex, Ric's brother, is at football practice. He's eight years older than us and starting high school in the fall.

Our only enemies are 'the sisters', Ric's sisters and my cousins: Celia, Ana, and Sophia. They kill all fun all the time.

Right before dinner, I smuggle the pie plate back into the house and stash it in the dishwasher. Ric and I wash our hands and sit down to dinner. We pick at dinner, not really hungry. _Mamí_ notices.

"Les? Ric? You boys should be very hungry after running around all day," she says quietly.

"Yes, _Mamí_, but we drank a lot of Kool-Aid right before dinner." I pat my stomach and smile, making sure she can see my Kool-Aid stained teeth. "I'm full."

"Well, in that case, you don't have room for flan," _Abuelo_ says, frowning.

My eyes widen. "I **always** have room for flan," I reply, shoving my dinner into my mouth. The adults laugh and I peek at Ric. He's smiling and shaking his head. His sisters, Celia, Ana, and Sofia, are eating dainty and shaking their heads at us.

Finally dinner is over and _Abuela_ goes into the kitchen to get the flan. I see Ric look at me and smile. _Abuela_ returns. "The flan is gone."

The adults look over in confusion. "Leonor," _Abuela_ Rosa says slowly, "The flan was on the counter."

"I'm not blind, Rosa. It's not there anymore. It's not on the counter, it's not in the fridge, it's not in the kitchen."

_Abuela_ Rosa gets up and they return to the kitchen. They return with the empty pie plate. They stare at all of us but Ric and I look innocent, so they look at the sisters. "Celia, how did this happen?"

Celia looks scared and upset. "I didn't eat it, _abuela_! I promise."

"You and Ana were the only ones in the kitchen when we weren't there. Who else could have taken it?"

Celia and Ana burst into tears. Sofia and Alex are confused. I look over. Ric is twitching. He's going to confess. I sigh and prepare to put on two pairs of undies tonight. Maybe the spanking won't hurt so much if I do that.

"I stole it," Ric says quietly. The adults look at him in astonishment.

"You stole our flan?" _Tío_ Rico asks. Ric nods.

"Impossible," _Abuela_ Rosa says. "I watched you. You left with Kool-Aid."

Ric fidgets but he won't look at me. _Tío_ Rico looks at me and at the adults. I see Papa look at me hard and I sigh.

"No, **I** stole the flan. Ric just got the forks." Ric glares at me but I shake my head.

"How?!" Mamí says in confusion. "You couldn't have. Everyone was in the kitchen when you were there."

Papa laughs. "If there's a way, Lester will find it." He looks at me hard. "No lying, Lester. Did you truly steal the flan?" I nod. "I assumed as much. If Ric did something, you're right there with him. Whose plan was it? Yours?" I nod and my father smiles, shaking his head.

Everyone else has ice cream for dinner. Ric and I wash the dishes. Ric says nothing, just smiles and shakes his head at me. I'm still steaming.

Papa whips me this time and I'm grounded for three months . I overhear _Mamí_ crying that she has a thief for a son. Papa laughs. "Be thankful, _querida_. He's learning to create and execute a plan. We'll either have a master criminal or a Wall Street bond trader." Papa laughs and Mamí curses him and says I'm no Milken and I'm not to spend any more time with Ric.

Papa really laughs at that. "_Querida_, Les and Ric are one devious boy in two bodies. You can't tear those two apart. Besides, Ric's a good influence on Les."

"How?" My mother sounds mystified.

"Would Les have ever confessed if Ric had not first?" Mamí sighs. "Exactly. Ric is the moral backbone of those two. Allow them to stick together. Ric will teach Les to consider all the consequences of his actions because Ric will always take responsibility when he's done wrong."

I make a promise: No more plans with Ric that might require him to confess. He's too honest to be sneaky.

* * *

**Age 13**

"This court accepts Mr. Mañoso's plea of no contest to the charge which, if committed by an adult, would be entered as a charge of grand theft auto, fourth degree. The disposition of this case will be as follows: Ricardo Mañoso, I am ordering you to a period of confinement in the Essex County Juvenile Detention Center for a period of no less than six months, including time served, and supervised probation for a total of six months." The judge stares at Ric. "Mr. Mañoso, do you have any questions?"

Ric, pale and swallowing hard, shakes his head. The bailiff appears next to Ric and takes him by the arm. Ric says something to him and he waits. Ric turns, scans the court, looking at all of us, the entire family in tears, and spots me. He jerks his head over to me. I stand and jog over quickly.

"Tomas." Ric looks at me, black eyes blazing, and I nod.

Tomas is going down. I'll pull out my most devious plan against him.

Four months without Ric to go.

* * *

Papa only asked two question when Ric was caught.

"Why did he join?"

I stared at Papa. "Celia, Ana, and Sofia. They spend more time trying to control him than leaving him alone. He joined to get out of the house and have someone to hang with. Alex is in college. He doesn't want his scrawny little brother and cousin chasing after him all the time."

"Why didn't you join?"

I shake my head. "Just me. I have run of the house and only you and Mamí to tell me what to do. I can get into trouble in the house."

Papa smirked. "You stay grounded." We laugh but I'm so hurt that Ric's in jail. No matter how devious I've been, if Ric goes down, so do I. Tomas left him out there hanging. I'll **never** forgive him for that.

* * *

I ask to spend some time at _Tía_ Maria's and _Tío_ Rico's. My parents are confused by the request but I tell them I want to spend some time in Ric's room. He often spent time with us so it's not a completely weird request.

My parents help me pack and I leave our house in Elizabeth and move to Newark for the summer. Celia and Ana decide, my first day, to lecture me on what I can and cannot do. I look at them and shoot a bird.

"All your advice did was run Ric from the house. He was so miserable being around you two, and Sofia, that he'd do anything to get away. You want to encourage **me** to be a gangbanger? Keep talking and trying to order me around."

They're shocked and I slam the door in their faces. When I come out, they refuse to speak to me. Good. _Tía_ Maria is happy to have me and I do Ric's chores, listen to his music, and play his PlayStation. On the surface, I'm Ric, although everyone watches me carefully. I finally tell _Tía_ Maria and _Tío_ Rico that if I wanted to be a gangbanger, I could join the _Reyes_ in Elizabeth. I'm not interested. I just want to be in Ric's space over the summer. If I can't have him, I'll take the closest substitute.

They smile, shaky, and the close surveillance ends.

At nights, I spy on Tomas. He's laughing and bragging about the fact that Ric's in juvie and he's out and free. I'm furious. I'm gonna make this hurt.

I wait until he's alone, and my eyes widen.

Tomas is gay. He's jerking to gay porn on his computer. I'm shocked. I take the pictures anyway, but I get the feeling I'll need to use something else. Ric wouldn't do this. Ric would do something else. **I'd **hold that against him, but Ric wouldn't and I'm delivering this payback on Ric's behalf.

I keep watching and I see that Tomas is in a race with another _Reyes_ to move up in the gang. It's based on his ability to 'produce', which I think means sell drugs. I'm thinking about this. If I ensure he gets caught with a significant amount of drugs, that'll put his butt in jail for up to four years, depending on how he's sentenced.

I've learned a lot about juvie justice, including the fact that the judge went hard on Ric. Scared straight crap, I'm guessing.

Then I learn Tomas is 18. I know nothing of adult guidelines. Crap. I start reading but my eyes cross. I'm trying to figure out how to get him caught and sentenced for a year. Eye for an eye.

So I start pilfering his stash. In order to ensure he's not caught with it when the cops roll by, each banger has a designated hiding spot. When the cops cruise by, I steal Tomas's stash and go hide it. He's in a panic because he's losing drugs and now he's in trouble within the gang because he's not producing.

The other _Reyes_ moves up in the hierarchy and Tomas is given a vicious beating. He's lost over $2500 in product. I'm still stuck on how to get him a year in jail, like Ric.

Mid-July, there's a knock at the door and someone asks to speak to me. I walk out. I recognize this _Reyes_. The guy Tomas was in the race with. Rogelio. He's about 18 and he and Ric look pretty similar but he's six foot with dark eyes, dark skin and a long ponytail. He's dressed in black jeans and a yellow button-down with a white T-shirt underneath. Clearly sporting _Reyes_ colors but also dressed in a way that makes him look like a well-dressed young man, if anyone asks. No obvious tats.

Rogelio is smart. Everything about him is designed to throw you off. He's not a hood, throwing up signs and yelling all the time. He's low key. We bump fists and he nods for me to follow him. I wave at the family, who are watching carefully and wide-eyed, and walk off with him. He says nothing at first.

"You're Ric's cousin." I nod and he smiles. "He said you'd never join. I assume that's still true." I nod again and he gives a short laugh. "Your cousin was slick. Smart. He was betrayed. That was the only reason he was arrested. Tomas betrayed his ass and I'm the only man, besides you, who knows. I assume you keep stealing his stash because you're setting him up for a fall?"

I stop dead in my tracks and stare at him. He smiles and waves for me to keep walking. I notice that we're just walking around the block and he has men posted everywhere. "I pay attention. The fact that his numbers started falling led me to ask my men to watch his ass. They saw you once. Just once and I put everything together. You're as slick as Ric but Ric rarely said anything about you, except that he had a cousin more brilliant than him. That's how I knew who you must be." We finally stop walking and he turns to me. "What's your plan?"

"Why should I trust you?"

He smiles. "You're good. Smart. Never trust anyone with your back that you don't know." I nod. "OK, I'll give you what you need to know. I'm being transferred to Miami. They need someone strong down there and your fucking Tomas up tipped the scales to me. I believe in karma. It bit Tomas in the ass. He betrayed a loyal man, a young man, with all the potential in the world. If I know men like I think I know men, your cousin will never return to us."

I nod emphatically. Ric's made that clear.

Rogelio sighs. "Fuck. I wanted him as my second. He was fucking brilliant, even as young as he is. Anyway, be careful of karma. Your plan? Any way you could be harmed in it?"

"He'll get everything back," I reply.

Rogelio grins. "And the police will find out?"

"I believe in karma, poetic justice, whatever you want to call it."

Rogelio laughs silently. "Fuck! Nice job." He looks at me, smiling. "Ric's right. You are brilliant. What do you plan to do after high school?"

I shrug. "No idea."

"Go to the military." I raise an eyebrow and he nods. "The military needs men like you and Ric. Loyal, brilliant fuckers. The military will hone your skills." He smiles. "Now, for Tomas, don't take him out of the game. Make sure that when he's arrested he has less than 500 grams on him if it's powder. Less than five grams if it's crack, which is really one or two envelopes. That will get him at least five years. Need a scale?"

I shake my head. I know _Tía_ Maria has a scale. She's always on a diet.

"Good. And make sure you wear gloves. If you really want to set him up and keep yourself out of it, make sure you wear gloves when you put the product in a new baggie. Keep your fingerprints off everything." I look at him wide-eyed. I'm glad he told me. I forgot about fingerprints. He shakes my hand. "Nice to meet you, Lester. Tell Ric that if he needs me, he knows how to get in touch." He turns to walk off.

"Question?" He turns around. "You know I'm about to set him up and you're not stopping me. Why?"

Rogelio drops all smiles and returns to me. "Because the fucker has no loyalty. He knew Ric was young and still learning all the rules and instead of watching out for a loyal man like he should have, he let him take the fall. Even if he didn't stand up for Ric, he should have muddied the waters for him to help Ric get out of it.

No man under me has ever served time, which is why all my men are loyal. I was working on getting your cousin into my crew when he was caught. I needed an Andretti and he's the best." He stares at me. "Because of Tomas's shit actions, Ric will leave us, never to return. So we lost a good man, a future leader in this gang, for no fucking reason. Worst, we lost you."

"I never would have joined."

Rogelio smiles, clearly amused. "Yes, you would have. Your cousin means the world to you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be crawling around gang territory trying to set up a relatively powerful banger for a fall. You'd do anything for Ric. If joining this gang had been what he required of you, you would have joined."

I don't want to think about that. I want to believe nothing on earth would have convinced me to join.

"Tomas is gay."

Rogelio stares at me. "I know."

He doesn't say it, and neither do I, but we both nod: Tomas came onto Ric and Ric rejected him, which is why he left Ric out there.

I return to the house and _tía_ Maria sighs in relief. "You OK?"

I nod. "I knew who he was when I left. He just wanted an update on Ric." Her jaw tightens and I shake my head. "He knows Ric's not returning to the gang. He wanted to know that Ric's OK and he wanted to tell me to be on my guard. They know who I am and they're interested. I told him I'm **not** interested in no uncertain terms."

_Tía_ Maria sighs deeply and hugs me tight. "Yes, please don't get involved in gangs, Lester." She kisses my forehead.

"_Tía_?"

"Yes?" She smiles at me.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Of course, _niño_. What is it?"

"When Ric comes home, don't allow him to be badgered by his sisters. That's why he joined. To get away from them. If I didn't stay holed up in Ric's room all the time, they'd spend all their time trying to tell **me** what to do."

_Tía_ Maria stares at me but I hold her gaze. Finally, she nods. "I'll discuss that with your _tio_, dear. Now wash up. Dinnertime."

* * *

A week later, Tomas is arrested at his home with 400 grams of powder cocaine. It took everything I had to ensure he wasn't arrested with the entire stash. The cops found it in the doghouse in the back of his mom's house. Tomas was stunned and wondering who betrayed him. After he was picked up, I sent a message asking Rogelio to contact me. He dropped by the house, I told him where the rest of the stash was, and we nodded at each other.

I tell Ric that everything has been taken care of during our weekly visit, my last one for the summer. He smiles, the first time the entire visit. I look at him. He's losing weight and is clearly miserable but philosophical. I whisper, "Rogelio's going to Miami. He said we should both join the military."

He nods and the 'sisters' want to know what we're talking about.

"None of your business," I reply.

The rest of the family fills Ric in on everything going on and Ric pays attention, but he's not really there in the moment. Finally, during our last few minutes, he looks at me.

"Don't join."

"I won't."

He nods. "Rogelio's a good guy."

I smile. "Yeah."

He finally smiles a true Ric smile. "I wanted in his crew. He reminded me of you."

I laugh. "Funny. He told me I reminded him of you. And, honestly, he reminded me of you."

* * *

**Two months later**

Ric returns home and everyone is lecturing him to death during our first family dinner. I finally stand and walk over in front of my _primo_, protecting him from our entire family.

"Stop!" I yell. Every adult is shocked but I'm willing to take all the punishment and whippings they want to give. "Stop," I repeat quietly. "He did his time. He had six months to think about it. He's done with the gang, right?" I turn to him and he nods, a small smile on his face. "OK, so stop yelling at him all the time. Let it go. Besides, we all know Ric's too fucking honest to be a banger."

I'm grounded for cursing, but next time Ric and I meet he hugs me tight.

"Thanks."

"No prob."

"They lay off?"

He snorts. "Everyone except my sisters."

I thought so. I'll make their lives miserable if they don't stop.

"Tomas?"

I smile cruelly. "Five years."

Ric laughs and I smile.

Tomas messed with _mi familia_. I'll fuck with him periodically until he dies.

I'm not Ric. I don't let anything go.

* * *

Ric moves to Miami a few weeks later. I'm depressed and Papa is worried.

"Les?"

I look over. Papa takes a seat at my desk. "What's wrong?"

I stare at the TV for a long time. "I always expected to go through high school with Ric. School starts next week and he's in Miami." I clench my jaw, furious. "I'm alone. My best friend is gone." I'm ignoring the tears dripping down my face.

Papa sits on my bed and rubs my back as I cry silently. I never realized, until he was gone, how big a part of my life Ric was. We weren't cousins. We're brothers and I miss him.

"I know it hurts, son, but this could be good for you too." I look at Papa, who smiles. "Here in Newark, you were always going to be measured against Ric. If he joined the football team, they would look for you to do the same. If he made perfect grades, they would look for you to do the same. Now you two will shine separately. Show Ric who you are apart from him."

I enter high school determined to succeed. So does Ric and the contest continues. I become a chess champ. So does Ric, although I'm better. Ric plays football so I play basketball. Ric wrestles and I join the band. We both letter, we're both Homecoming King, we're both Prom King. We talk to each other once a week, by phone, and we brag on what we're doing.

It's just that I **always** do things a year later. Papa and Ric understand I'm not competing against Ric but the rest of the family doesn't quite get that. They compare us and I'm tired of being on the losing side.

I love _mi primo_, my brother. I'm just tired of being in Ric's shadow.

* * *

**Age 18**

"Maria can't believe it! Ric's gotten some poor girl pregnant. He married her, to make sure the baby has his name and Army benefits, but Christ!"

_Mamí_ and Papá are discussing Ric's latest debacle as I'm packing to leave for college. I'm tempted to call _mi_ _primo_ and offer my services. He's gotten much better at being sneaky over the years so I wonder what it was this time. Condoms? No, Ric loves condoms. I'm betting condom failure, which means that this one really isn't his fault.

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about that from Les," Papa says.

"He's not having sex," _Mamí_ says, confused. I smirk and I'm sure Papa is smirking too. "He better not be having sex! I'll kill him if he is."

"Then prepare to bury your son, _querida_. The boy's only weekly expenses are gas and condoms." I look up, startled. How does Papa know that? "He's a Santos. The girls flock to him, as you did to me." I make gagging noises silently. "Be thankful he's prepared and responsible. I doubt Les ever presents us with a son before he's ready."

Got that right, Papa. Too many women in the world and they're all beautiful. I love women. They're each so different, so interesting, that I can't see myself choosing just one. What if I find another more interesting later on? Nah, right now I'd just like to meet them all.

And, if they're interested in being intimate, I've no problems with that. Naked women are the most interesting of all. A naked woman is the most vulnerable creature on earth and the fact that she's allowing me that intimacy, that part of her she normally keeps buttoned up, covered and hidden . . . well, that's something to be treasured and explored.

Slowly. All night. I hate quickies.

I've learned that men who treat time with women as a special gift usually find themselves with a naked woman quickly enough. A man who treats time with a naked woman as a gift finds himself welcomed back whenever she's willing. I'm not a stupid man, I hope.

I make sure I have plenty of condoms. Babies are **not** in my game plan.

* * *

I loved having Ric in New Brunswick when he decided to go to Rutgers. Ric was the man. Women flocked to him as if he had a magnet in his pants and I'm not ashamed to admit I took the unhappy women who didn't capture his attention. I usually ended up with the women who did get his attention later because Ric's attention span is short. Mine is too but these were **college** women. I was 17 and getting laid by women 2-3 years older than me. I was thrilled.

Ric was into everything and I was right there with him, but he wouldn't let me slack in my studies. He would pick me up on the weekends and I'd stay with him in his dorm room. Friday night I would finish my homework and we'd make a plan. Dinner, dancing at the hottest clubs, and women. No drinking or drugs. He was adamant about that.

Drinking meant beer goggles and that was dangerous. No one wants to wake up the next morning scared of the previous night's partner. Drugs were stupid. I agreed to his rules.

Ric grossed me out by showing me pictures of STDs, but he was honest. He'd lost his virginity in **Miami**. The women down there were beautiful, but if he hadn't known how to identify a herpes outbreak he might be an itchy motherfucker now. I shut up and memorized the pictures. We bought condoms and, to my unending embarrassment, he made me switch brands until we found the right ones for my dick.

Thankfully, I'm a Trojan XL man. Ric laughed and called me conceited. Trojan XL is a tight fit on him.

He made me practice rolling them on with one hand, and I realized that this was brilliant the first time I got a girl who **didn't** know how to put a condom on and thought we should just chance it. I looked at her like she was crazy. No thank you. I don't play the baby roulette.

I lost my virginity in a four-way with Ric. He wanted to make sure I didn't do something stupid, like come too quick. I acquitted myself well and was left to my own devices after that. I did learn that the morning after was just as important as the night before. I was always interested in seeing the girl again (College girls! I wasn't banging high schoolers!) but I was just a night of fun for them. Still, the next time I saw someone I'd been with, they were always pleasant and they hugged me. I learned to remember names, using mnemonics, and to never ignore them.

Ric ignored them. They were always trying to tie him down. He had to double strap because they wanted to have sex without condoms. They thought he was handsome and brilliant and wanted to be his one and only, even after he was honest with them about not being interested in marriage or dating. It was insane! There was just something about him that caused women to lose their minds. Brilliant, career focused women would sleep with him and come back with meals they'd made, trying to entice him. The more desperate ones learned to speak Spanish and tried to whisper sexy things in his ears.

I wondered what he had that I didn't.

Ric snorted each time. "I was damn near ignored in Miami. Here? I'm exotic." He said that in disgust one morning while we dined at IHOP (trying to avoid his latest stalker) and I looked at him. "You'll get along with all the 'right' groups in Miami," he said, finger-quoting. "You're light with green eyes. You're white of Hispanic origin, the preferred Cuban look. I'm clearly darker."

"That matters?" I didn't see it. Ric is darker than me but he just looks like he's tanned.

"There? Yeah, it does." he said, paying our IHOP bill.

* * *

Our time at Rutgers wasn't all sex and women. It was me and Ric against the world again, only I didn't have the same Ric.

The Ric who came back from Miami was colder. Ice cold to his sisters who quickly stopped lecturing him, especially after he told them to mind their own fucking business. They were astonished and he rarely speaks to them. I don't blame him. All they do is lecture.

Cool to his parents, who weren't quite sure how to respond to their youngest son. Alex clearly had no idea who Ric was and was completely unable to talk to him. I rolled my eyes mentally. I wanted to tell him, 'You spent years ignoring us and telling us to go away. This is what you get'. Only his _Abuela_ Rosa and my _Abuela_ Leonor were exempt. They always got a warm smile and tight hug.

The family looked at me. I shook my head. Ric's thoughts were his own. Always have been. Papa took me to the side after a month and asked me what was going on. I looked Papa square in the face.

"He'll never be lectured to again. No one will ever tell Ric what to do. _Tía_ Maria needs to keep his sisters out of his face."

The sisters were kept as far away from Ric as they could get them.

Still, we hung out together. I asked about Rogelio and Ric told me that Rogelio, now nicknamed Piman, took the fall for one of his men. He was serving five years. I thought about what Rogelio said when he came to see me and realized that he was a stand-up guy. For a gangbanger, that is.

Ric had me reading his college textbooks and we debated history and politics. I was thinking of majoring in philosophy when Ric asked me what kind of job that would lead to. I thought about it and decided to switch to international affairs. Ric was into management and ROTC. I'd talked to the Army recruiters and was considering ROTC in college. Ric agreed.

"You're brilliant as a tactician." He grinned. "Remember when you stole the flan? Perfect fucking plan. Room full of adults and not one of them caught you."

I laughed. "You're too honest though. We might have gotten away with it if you hadn't confessed."

Ric smiled. "Yeah, if you could get away with it and let someone else take the fall, you would." He stopped smiling and looked at me. "I hope that's changed."

I nodded and we said nothing more about it. That's what Tomas did to Ric. After I set his butt up, I made a solemn promise to myself that I would **always** take responsibility for my actions. I would never allow someone to take the fall.

After all, somewhere out there was another Lester Alejandro Santos ready to set my ass up.

* * *

I meet Julie and, although she's cute, she's not cute enough for my cousin to be miserable for the rest of his life.

"Divorce," I tell him quietly.

Ric shakes his head. "You think it's so easy—"

"Wrong! I don't. I just don't see a reason for you to remain unhappy for the rest of your life just because you have a daughter. You plan to drop out of the military? Get a 9-5? Be a wage slave with someone telling you what to do for the rest of your life?"

Ric's jaw clenches. Julie shifts, a little spit bubble appearing on her pretty little lips. I smile and wipe her mouth.

"If you don't plan to be here every day with her, let Rachel go. She's not the love of your life, is she?" Ric shakes his head. "Then divorce. Pay child support and spousal support. Write a will to make sure Julie gets everything if something happens to you. But quit pretending you're happy because I know you're not.

Nothing will ever change the love you have for Julie, but do what's hard right now to make life better for her later. Do you really think she'll grow up happy in a house where her father ignores her mother? Where he's never there? What happens if Rachel falls in love with someone else?"

Ric stares at me hard and sighs. He finally starts packing and goes to Ranger school the next week. After he comes out, he and his new RB, Tank, go to sign the divorce papers. I offered to back him but he said he didn't want anyone from the family with him.

I think he blames me for advising him to divorce Rachel, but I told him what I honestly thought at the time. I want what's best for Ric **and** Julie and, honestly, Rachel too. No need for three people to be miserable because of one condom failure.

The divorce is nasty. Rachel tries to strip Ric of all visitation rights and she throws his support offers in his face. She's furious because she thinks Ric is running away, leaving her with the baby. Ric tries to explain. He points out that they married for Julie, not because they love each other. He loves his daughter and is willing and prepared to support her for the rest of his life, but he doesn't want to tie Rachel down. He intends to make the Army his career.

Is she really prepared to be married to a man who is **never **home?

Rachel doesn't care. She's embarrassed that her husband of one year is bailing on her. Finally, her mother makes her calm down and accept everything Ric's offering. Julie is protected and cared for in the event of Ric's death. Our family is livid but Ric stands strong in front of everyone.

Even me.

* * *

Bobby is the first person, aside from Ric, to gain my complete trust. He's the straight man to my crazy and, if you know anything about Bobby, that almost seems like a lie. I think that says something dangerous about both of us.

"Come on, pretty boy! Let's go clubbing!"

It's like being back out with Ric. Bobby is handsome and women love him. They flock to him in a heartbeat. The difference is Bobby's black. I'm Latino but I look white. The women we pull are different. I'm not competing with Ric for women and I really appreciate it. Bobby and I are never in conflict for women.

More than that, Bobby and I are similar intellectually. We both took philosophy and history classes in college and we debate what we know. Those debates last for hours and we're completely honest with each other about what we think. He speaks perfect French and teaches all of us—me, Ric, and Tank—to speak it after we realize that French is damn near a dead language in the military. Spanish, Arabic, Farsi, that's considered important. Tank picks up quickest, since he's from Louisiana, but within a year we're all proficient.

That gets us all on a kick and we decide to learn a new language each year. Ric and I teach Bobby and Tank Spanish and, since it's a romance language, they pick it up fast. We decide to learn all the romance languages, since they have the same Latin base. The military screws up our plans by making us learn to speak Egyptian Arabic and Farsi and read Modern Standard Arabic, but we aren't the elites for nothing. We buckle down and practice together and we're shocked to realize that learning Arabic actually makes learning the romance languages easier. They borrowed a ton of words from Arabic so we managed to learn Egyptian Arabic and Portuguese the same year.

Bobby and I are the party animals. I realize Bobby's nearly three years older than me but it doesn't matter. He's a kid at heart and we party, work out, and scheme constantly. Ric sighs and gets accustomed to getting calls that we're being searched for. We always manage to _just_ avoid the brig. Ric and Tank shake their heads in amusement.

Tank and I take longer to gel. I like him, I really do, but he's displaced me by my cousin's side and I don't know how to take this. I've **always** been Ric's second. Now? I'm not and it hurts. I've lost my best friend to his RB. I feel cut out. Tank and Ric can look at each other and have an entire conversation. Ric and I look at each other and end up shrugging. We never know _exactly_ what the other is thinking.

Tank doesn't say much to me but I know he likes me. We're both just feeling each other out.

Bobby and I kick back one weekend and we're working on a new scheme when he turns to me. "Tank's a perfect partner for your cousin. Let your anger at him go."

I stare at him in confusion. Bobby's smiling. "Those two? Me and you, bro. The bromance is strong. Ric loves you. He'll save your ass in a heartbeat but you two are too similar. Think about the strengths Tank has that you don't and consider how you balance Ric." He stares at me then shakes his head. "I displaced him. Tank displaced you. Tank's holding back because he doesn't want to affect your relationship. You two are more than best friends. You're family, cousins. That's closer than close."

My RB can read people so I take some time and think about that. I realize that Tank's a perfect second for Ric. Ric's thoughts are still an occasional puzzle to me; Tank anticipates Ranger's thoughts. Ric's serious as hell and so is Tank; Bobby and I lighten them. Ric and I scheme; Tank and Bobby execute.

Yeah, I'm not Ric's back and I can't be. No man needs his reflection as his back.

* * *

Part II is next Sunday. The flan story is inspired by my little cousin Chris. He managed to steal an entire tray of cupcakes from a room filled with adults. LOL.


	9. I Live in His Glow

**I Live in His Glow**

"_. . . but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow."_

**Lester's POV**

We're tied down under heavy gunfire. Ram is doing his best to pick them off, but he can't move much without giving away his position. Ric will never allow Ram to take fire. We allow Ram to do his thing because he's a fucking genius with a rifle, and Ric's adamant about ensuring Ram's protected.

We need a plan.

We've been successful in the objective, which was to completely eliminate an insurgent cell, hiding place and all, but we're in urban fire now, exactly what we didn't want. I think about where everyone is and I realize that if we don't move soon, Ram **will** take fire. This is where he set up in order to cover us while we took out the cell, and now they're closing in on him. They'll stumble on his ass and our best sniper will die. Teigs was enough. Bobby and Ric love Ram. I can't allow Ram to take fire.

We have minutes to make a decision.

I look over and Bobby signals that he sees four. Tank and Ric are in a blind and I don't know how to signal to Ric that we need a distraction. Finally I think of one.

"FLAN!"

I see Bobby look at me as if I'm insane, but I get an answer: "NO FUCKING WAY!"

"Cover me," I reply, motioning for Bobby to stay put. I run out into the open, shake my ass, then run away from Ram. The insurgents immediately spot and fire at me, running for their car. I'm running my ass off, hoping I get away with this one. I hop from one open door to another, ignoring the bullets that find their targets, and basically head around the corner. I hear single shots and screams.

Just as I hoped for. I opened it up for Ram to take his shots and I'm providing 'cover' confusion to hide his position.

"Cover me," I hear Ric call, and I know he got it. He's running in the opposite direction and I hear more gunfire and more single shots. Three sets this time. Ric and I keep running, occasionally calling, "Cover me," and the gunfire slows.

I peep out of my current hiding spot and smile. "Glad to see you remembered."

"Fucking insane plan," Ric grouses, collapsing to his knees. I see three bullets and I quickly dig them out and bandage his leg and arm. He does the same for me. We wait and finally we start hearing, "Clear."

Bobby and Tank, checking doorways and clearing a path to us. They finally find the bombed out building we're in and Bobby quickly checks us both and patches us up with flexible bandages.

"Sinclair?" Ric calls into the microphone.

"One moment, sir." Ram strides in, still clearly scouting for the enemy, and takes a watchful position at the door.

"You OK, Sinclair?" Ric asks.

"Sir, yes, sir," Sinclair answers, still scouting, "but we need to move from this building. There's a bomb on the first floor."

My eyes are wide and I stand, testing my leg. Ric checks his and we nod at Bobby. Tank and Bobby take point getting us back to base. We collapse on the cots and sigh. Ram's out immediately, Bobby checking him over to make sure he's OK.

"Flan?" Tank asks.

Ric smirks and tells them the flan story. Tank and Bobby laugh.

"Figures. You two will do anything for sugar," Bobby says.

Ric and I look at each other and smile.

* * *

Me, Ric, Tank, and Bobby are known as the 'Four Shades of Death'. We're _**always**_ successful in the mission objectives. We can be given what, for most Ranger units, would be a death order and come back barely singed.

If we have nine lives, we're using them up fast.

We acquire a small group of loyal 'followers', for lack of better term. If Ric determines we need a man with special skills to carry out the mission's objective, then the brass hustles to get us what we want. We interview for special skills and keep men who are successful, smart, brave, and both independent and good at following orders.

Men like Ram Sinclair, the uber-sniper. Ric refuses to loan him out to anyone. Ram is **ours**. He's the only man in our crew that Ric is determined to protect at all costs and I don't blame him. If we loan Ram out, we'll never get him back. His rep is **that** good. Ric makes sure that Ram gets all his awards and medals. He's saved our asses too many times for it not to be recognized.

The day Ram qualifies as a member of the President's Hundred, Ric arranges for Ram to get some decent leave at home. Ram got nearly a month of leave. First time in 26 months and he deserved every minute Ric arranged.

After Teigs, Ram is pretty much a solo operator but eventually Ric, nervous about having him out there on his own, finally finds the perfect spotter for him. Armando Cortes, a Marine trained in counter-sniper techniques, joins the troop for a while. Mando is also a skilled coxswain and talented at tying knots, a skill we didn't fully appreciate until Tank nearly falls over a cliff. Mando quickly and expertly ties a series of alpine butterfly knots that allowed us to attach carabiners to a rope to haul him back over. We all sit back and pant, Tank spread eagle on the ground (he still refuses to admit he was kissing it), and Ric looks at Mando.

"Miami?"

"Fell over the side a few times until I learned to attach myself to the boat," Mando replies, a half smile on his face. We all chuckle.

Mando teaches us to tie 60 different knots. The man knows his knots.

Mark Phillips is the fly boy. Mark can fly anything, anywhere, under any circumstances. He has nerves of steel and a way of flying a helicopter, an Apache, a Blackhawk, doesn't matter. If he can put it up in the air he **owns** it. We completed an objective from the crew section of a Blackhawk once because Mark flew like a man possessed. We tied ourselves to the helo, Mark flew like crazy man, and Mando set up a Fast Rope that allowed us to descend onto the top of the building while Ram, Joran, Junior, and Ches D provided cover fire.

The last man to join our special unit is Orlando Manega. We need a bomb expert and Orlando is **the** one. Somehow, even in the worst circumstances, Orlando has steady hands and the ability to calculate and mix bomb components on the fly. His ability to set things on fire reminds me of the Italian Mafia back in Jersey. He has the knack for making bridges crumble, potholes surface, and smoke screens appear just as we need them.

We learn that if you see a bomb technician running, try to keep up with him. Something's about to happen.

Even better, he's skilled at identifying and disabling explosive devices. Orlando becomes a true member of the troop when he disables a Shaheed belt without protective gear, an insane thing to do but we had a time crunch. The protective gear would take an hour to arrive and we had two hours to complete the objective. My plan needed every minute of those two hours and each man knew it.

Tank had a real problem with Orlando's sudden discovery of his balls.

"Manega! Get your ass back here!"

Orlando paused, turned, and looked at Tank and Ric. Terror was clear on his face but so was resolve. "Sir, if I don't, ten men will die because one was a coward." Orlando approached the insurgent and disabled the belt.

Ric and Tank put him through **hell** for disobeying orders but from that moment on, Orlando became Tank's right hand man and Ric, amused, arranged to have the bomb technician with more balls than sense attached to our unit.

* * *

Still, we chafe at military orders. The generals rarely know their asses from a foxhole, the intel is damn near always faulty, and the enemy is never where we expect him. We're sick of damn near dying because of our intelligence service's stupidity.

I always ask what Mossad thinks. The CIA handlers are always pissed at my insistence but I've learned: CIA stands for 'Can't Instigate Anything' or 'Caught In the Act'. Mossad _always_ knows who's doing what because they don't give a fuck. They'll bomb anyone to make sure Israel stays safe. Their intelligence is _always_ good. Not great but much better than the crap the CIA hands us. Ric and I can make plans off that.

Our reputation is solid and unassailable. We're approached by private 'security' companies to join their outfits, but after we start drilling into the sales pitch we realize we would simply be exchanging one set of idiots for another. Ric starts toying with the idea of starting our own group and we consider it. I realize that, at some point, we'll get old and tired and we won't have the strength and stamina we do now. We've been doing this for nearly four years. I mean, we're in our mid-to-late twenties, but this won't last long. Bobby, especially, is determined to get out before he hits 30.

"Why not start a firm of our own?" Bobby asks. It's nearing zero dark and we're tired. We should be asleep but we talk about this damn near every night.

Should we stay or should we go?

Ric and I write out advantages and disadvantages and, after one firefight goes spectacularly wrong for another squad, we really start planning it. Losses? 80%, including Joran and Orlando. Ranger, under pressure, loaned them out. It was the first and last time he **ever **did that to any man under his command. We grieved for months (really, years) and he made them all a solemn promise: He would never break up our unit. He refused to allow us to die needlessly under someone else's command.

Meanwhile, we decide to resign our commissions when Tank's contract is up. Then we run into a snag: The military doesn't want to let Tank go.

We do the research: As a Ranger-trained Staff Sergeant, Tank's a precious commodity. Add in his skills in leadership development and his position as a second to one of the most brilliant black-ops commanders in the military, and they'll do anything to keep him. We're all valuable, but Tank, even more than Ric, is especially valuable. The Army isn't making enough Staff Sergeants to offset the men killed, retired, or failed during RAP week. They'd prefer to keep Tank and shift him to the 3rd Battalion as a Ranger Instructor.

For Tank, it's a dream come true too late. Maybe a year or two earlier he might have made the transition but now, he's ready to leave.

It takes an extra six months after we make the decision for all of us to be honorably discharged. Tank was last and Ric worried about his discharge until the day Tank called to say it had been approved. We tell the men serving under us that we're leaving too. Most are leaving with us but Ram will remain for three years. Ric arranges to have him reassigned to a safer unit, for which Ram is quietly grateful. The race to get him into another Ranger unit was **on**. Ric tells Ram to send him a message the moment he gets out.

We'll have a job waiting for him.

* * *

We name the company RangeMan, after all of us. We are **all** Rangers and this is ours, but Ric adopts the nickname 'Ranger'. We realized that he was already well-known in Miami as either Ric or _el Tigre_ and that wouldn't work. Ric was personal, the name we call him amongst ourselves. _El Tigre_ is the unwelcome reminder of another lifetime and he's put that well behind him. Bobby and I consider adopting a pseudonym before deciding it's unnecessary.

We accept only the best and our first three RangeMan recruit classes are the best of the best. Men we served with, like Mando, Mark, and Junior are immediately hired. The business is booming. We started off small, and it ballooned faster than we expected. In order to ensure we have the money we need, Ranger and I occasionally take small assignments overseas and we take assignments all over as a group. Our willingness to put ourselves in danger builds the coffers fast.

Ranger's a brilliant manager. Tank picks the right men, I choose the right product offerings, and Bobby builds the 'brotherhood' and ensures the men gel. The branch is brilliant.

We get an unexpected visitor three days after our first anniversary.

"Ro—" He shakes his head violently and I nod. "Piman." He smiles. "Good to see you."

"Lester." We shake and I welcome him in, minus his guards. He motions for them to sit and I take him to see Ranger. Ranger's happy to see him and they hole up in his office for two hours. After, Piman leaves and Ranger smiles.

"Intel source," he says, and our eyes widen. "They'll pass us info when they hear something we need to know. He'll keep his men separate from us, but he'd prefer some cooperation. I agreed."

We nod. After that, our ability to pull men from the streets is exponentially easier and our contracts explode. We nearly can't handle the contracts we pull from the government so we take on silent partners who run the company for us while we're overseas. Even better, they bring extra money to the firm and it helps defray costs.

Our reputations, our near-perfect success rate, and our expense (as compared to larger, more bloated operations) make us an ideal 'boutique' outfit. The government comes calling. We accept the contracts. We make the RangeMan name.

* * *

Ranger wasn't lying about Miami. We've been here for a year and the women flock to me and Bobby. They ignore Ranger and Tank. Well, they don't ignore them but they don't get as much play as Bobby and I do. I'm stunned. That's **never** happened before.

Bobby laughs. "What? You think Latinos don't have a 'color' problem?" he asks. I look at him, confused and he shakes his head. "You have a color problem as bad as blacks do, but you pretend it doesn't exist. Think about all the Hispanics you see on TV then think about the color range you see in Miami." He snickers. "Lots of Lesters on TV, very very few Rangers. Hell, not even the telenovelas have dark actors unless they're in menial roles or they're playing the bad guy."

I sit back, sobered. No wonder Ranger's not that into dating. He has Amanda, his 'mistress' for lack of a better term, but he's not big on dating. I assumed it was because of Rachel, but I realize that Miami made Ranger bitter on women. It was clear when he came back to Newark for school but I didn't pick up on what that was really about.

Women down here act as if he should be grateful they're allowing him to be in their presence. They expect expensive dinners and gifts on the first date. They act that way with me and Bobby but we flip it on them: If you expect that, we have a list of sexual favors you should be prepared to provide. If you're whoring yourself out to us for a night, then expect to be treated like a whore.

Those kinds of women learn to avoid us.

We club and party and find the right women. The kind who find **us** interesting. The kind who are interested in seeing us the next morning for breakfast. The kind who don't expect gifts. As Bobby says, the kind who see more than a wallet.

We meet Amanda and we like her. She's a model, a swimsuit model, and she's pretty but stupid. Empty-headed. No thoughts beyond her tan, her waist measurement, and Ranger's dick and she definitely takes care of his dick. Ranger pays for her apartment and that's not a bad decision for him right now. Someone to take care of immediate needs. Amanda isn't a bad choice for Ranger but she's not the one for him.

I see, however, that she intends to change that.

"I expect her to come up with a condom failure for you soon, _primo_," I warn him. Ranger stares at me. "Swimsuit models have a limited lifespan. Unless she transitions into print or runway, there'll always be a newer, prettier model."

Ranger snorts. "Tank said the same thing." I smile. If we've both said it, then I'm sure Bobby will say it soon. Ranger's been warned.

Amanda announces she's pregnant six months later. Ranger tells her that Bobby will examine her and ensure it. She ducks Bobby's exam until it's clear she's not pregnant. That's just about the time the renewal for her apartment comes up.

Ranger doesn't renew it. Amanda begs, pleads, and strips naked in the middle of RangeMan Miami, trying to make Ranger jealous. Ranger hands her a sarong and calls a cab. After that, Ranger pretty much steers clear of women.

The men of RangeMan Miami wait to see if it's really over between him and her. Once it's clear that he's really cut her off, they start dating her. Well, Amanda has a series of dates with them. The men realize that Ranger really doesn't care. When it's over for him, it's over. She's free and single and if they want her, they better be willing to pay for her.

It takes Amanda six months to realize that Ranger really doesn't give a damn. He's not going to order the men not to date her. She's single. If she wants to fuck his employees, she's free to. And she does. She runs through at least 20 of them before finally calling it quits and moving to California.

I finally see it. Ranger has had enough disappointment and betrayal. He's becoming an island unto himself, like Tank. Those two will need a miracle to draw them from their shells.

* * *

I could have remained in Miami forever. The branch was brilliant and tight-knit. The location was wonderful, the women spectacular, and the business climate was wonderful to minority-owned businesses.

Ranger and I become the face of RangeMan in Miami. Bobby gives us intensive courses in the sort of stuff we never learned, the stuff he grew up knowing. We take a few quick jaunts to London and have suits and tuxedos custom tailored. Bobby prefers to have his favorite cologne custom curated in Paris, but we each choose a commercial equivalent. Bobby's only instruction: Each man has to have something different. We learn all the little rules for etiquette and when we dine out, we're superstars. We can conduct business anywhere but we're still ourselves.

We're still deadly. We're still comfortable on the streets.

Eventually Ranger gets wanderlust for a new branch and, after thinking about it, I agree. I think somewhere in Texas would be the perfect next branch, but we open the idea up to the men. Mark suggests Boston. We stare at him.

"Why Boston?"

"Bookend the country, sir. Plus we have a reputation among financial services clients. Our Miami branch has given us the edge. Boston is full of financial institutions. We can go set that branch up and get it operating pretty quickly."

Ranger and Tank scout both San Antonio and Boston. They return to Miami in agreement with Mark: Boston is an easy setup. Boston will be next.

* * *

We take Mark to Boston with us. I would have preferred to leave Mark. I've never seen such slavish devotion to anyone before in my life, but Ranger likes Mark. It was his idea and it was a good one. Turns out, Mark is right; we have Boston up and running in six months, our shortest time frame ever. Ranger sees Mark running the Boston office at the end.

Tank, Bobby, and I are all at a loss on that one. Correction: Bobby and I are at a loss. Tank's not and he's pissed. He clearly wants to break Mark, but I keep watching and thinking and I get it: Mark is Ranger without all the mistakes. Without juvie, without the gang affiliation, without the baby. Mark is Ranger if he had not made small, but critical, errors in his life (not that Julie is a mistake. Julie was just too soon.).

I tell Tank this and Tank nods. "I know that. Still, Mark's a fucking nuisance." I agree but Mark's also trustworthy, loyal, and smart. He's determined to ensure that whatever orders Ranger gives are carried out exactly. We can give Mark orders and not think about it ever again. It's a godsend when we take contracts for missions. We can come back and Mark will present the company's state. Just as we left it, with some modest growth. Ranger's always pleased with Mark's work and effort and so am I.

I just wish he wasn't so determined to try to leapfrog to Ranger's side. I've been displaced by the perfect person and I'll accept that. Mark?

Not a fucking chance.

* * *

Still, I'm bored and I don't have much to do now that I'm out of the Army. I make occasional jaunts back to Trenton to fuck with Tomas, now the Inca there, but otherwise, I need something to do.

I start taking assignments on my own, incredible adrenaline rush assignments, and Ranger starts thinking I have a death wish. Nope. I just need something to do. Ranger takes assignments that are deadly but boring. My assignments require skill and bravery. Planning. Intel gathering. Assessment. I tan, Ranger and I grow beards, and we infiltrate Pakistani society, something extremely dangerous and difficult because everything is tribal. Family connections matter, but we're good at portraying ourselves as Egyptians. It works. Our intel is always better than what the CIA can get and we're in and out fast. The insurgents usually think we're fellow insurgents and, as a group, they're chatty. They tell you damn near anything.

Ranger casualties go down thanks to our willingness to take suicide missions. We hear rumbles about being added to the 75th Ranger Regiment Wall of Honor once we hit the three-year mark.

Still, Ranger's not interested in this as much. I am. I'm fucking with people's minds, my favorite place to be. The mind of an insurgent is full of amazing contradictions. It's a shrink's wet dream! Coming back stateside is always a letdown. I hole up in Newark, let my mother feed me, and try to figure out why I'm never satisfied.

I'm never satisfied. I always want more. I need something more to do.

* * *

Bobby signs me up for psychology classes at the local college.

"I have enough to do, bro," I reply. He smirks.

"You need an outlet. Go figure out how to fuck with people's heads on a professional level."

I perk up. That sounds like a new hobby. I take the classes and I enjoy them. I subscribe to Psychology Today and pick up hints. I read books and start thinking about how to incorporate this in my daily life.

Bobby is smug because this new hobby of mine dovetails his profession. He stitches 'em up, I fuck with their heads. Tank picks up a Psychology Today and he and I finally have something to truly bond over. Tank is concerned with making sure the men are cared for. I'm interested in screwing with their minds. We talk, debate theory and carve out spheres. I leave the men alone unless Tank feels there's a need for me to get involved. I'm allowed to screw with the clients. I subscribe to professional journals and Tank and I have a 'discussion' about borrowing privileges. I like to read on the toilet. Tank reads in the tub. Ric and Bobby look at each other and shake their heads at us.

As usual, my RB has provided me with just what I need. We read books on interior decorating, I call in a decorator to redo the Miami office and we get started. Ranger thinks this is one of the weirdest ideas I've ever had but he gives me a budget to do it. The decorator (Alina. 5'8", 135 pounds, C cups, only wears thongs, likes waffles the morning after) and I redo Miami. I remind her that the men have to work here every day so it has to be someplace comforting and soothing for them (Ranger mandates no pink. Alina goes back to the drawing board), but we need to be able to manipulate clients.

Ranger realizes the advantages to my new hobby after we manage to renew a contentious contract at 15% instead of 10% as he was expecting. The room smelled of cookies, it was 1500 (halfway between lunch and dinner) and the client was feeling hungry, comfortable, and intimidated all at once. I could've gotten 20% but that would have exposed the plan.

Tank and I are smug. Ranger sighs, gives me another budget for Boston, and sends me off.

I head to Boston and redo Boston (Carolyn. 5'6", 130 pounds, only wears stilettos and demi-cup bras that show off her nice perky nipples. Disgusted by my love of Manhattan clam 'chowdah'). Mark has managed to grow the office at a nice rate and the men are loyal and hard-working. I completely intimidate them without Tank or Ranger around and I renew contracts at much higher rates than they were getting. Still, Mark's doing a damn good job. The office is growing fast.

I hate him but he's good.

I return to Miami and Ranger is thinking about buying two new offices, one in NYC, one in Atlanta. We scout out Atlanta first and purchase it from our silent partners. We purchase NYC six months later. This has increased our debt to $10 million, but the four of us (now nicknamed Leadership Core) take a few assignments overseas to bring it down to $5 million. Ranger hires the world's nerdiest accountant, Ryan, who restructures the remaining debt and we start paying it off from the profits. We're barely taking a salary trying to ensure the men are paid and have everything they need, but RangeMan is growing.

Four branches and I'm barely 29.

* * *

"Trenton," Ranger says.

I shake my head. "San Antonio." Tank and Bobby are watching us. We're arguing over which office to set up next. I'm sick of snow.

"Why?"

"We just bought NYC. Trenton's an hour away. That's too close. Plus we already have Boston up there. If we don't choose something in the Mid-Atlantic, let's go back down south. Another branch up north is too close."

"Trenton would give us a toehold in Philly and Delaware and augment NYC. NYC is a beast on its own. Trenton would allow us to cover the north of Jersey."

I sigh. Point but I still think it's too close.

"Got a yearning for home?" I ask.

Ranger's eyes darken. "No. This is business. I'm thinking about Philly, Delaware, and the fact that Baltimore isn't that far away. The beginnings of the DC toehold. That's why I want to get it up and staffed now. It shouldn't take us long. You have any other reason besides that you're sick of snow?"

Honestly, no, so I give. Trenton's next.

* * *

We're in the car headed to Newark for a family dinner. Ranger has no interest in this and neither do I. Papa called me.

"Get him here. We don't care how."

So I drag Ranger with me. We park at my parents and enter the house. The entire family rushes us and we're hugged and scolded. Ric's put his blank face on.

"Ric, it's about time you came home," Celia says, bouncing her baby on her hip. I tickle him under his chin and get a handful of drool for my trouble.

"Celia."

"Hey little bro," Alex says, attempting to hug Ric. It's awkward. Alex is fat and Ric isn't bending. Alex is a successful accountant and married with four kids. I'm suddenly aware of how many kids there are in this house. Jesus Christ. My balls tighten. Everything from 3 months to 14 years is represented here. I feel like putting on a condom, just on principle.

"Alex." Ric is ice cold and the entire family gets quiet as they realize that time and space have not made Ric any warmer. Papa looks at me and I shrug. My mission was to get him here. I hope Abuela Rosa is here.

She is, and my Abuela Leonor too, and they come out hugging us, pinching our cheeks and lamenting how thin and scarred we are. Ric and I share a smile. We're both around 180 pounds of solid muscle. Thin? Grandma-vision is definitely selective.

We sit down to dinner and, after grace, the entire family immediately starts trying to find out more about RangeMan and what we're doing. We say nothing. It's a security company. That's all they need to know.

They ask about Julie and Ranger is silent. He gives out absolutely no information on Julie. Rachel remarried and her remarriage finally allowed her to thaw to Ranger. She invited him to Miami and, although I have no idea what went down, Ranger came back happier and with pictures of Julie. She's a beautiful little girl and I told Ranger I was having heartburn on his behalf. Julie will have to fight the boys off with a stick when she's old enough.

Ranger paled. I grinned and told him that a boy like me or him was out there somewhere.

I woke up with a concussion and Bobby laughing his ass off at my misfortune. Tank looked at me and grinned. "Idiot," he said.

Still, this dinner is not going well. Conversation is stilted and no one knows what to say. I'm trying to keep a conversation going with my Abuela, but they want to know more about Ric. I finally realize that I keep my parents up-to-date with my life but no one has any information on Ric. This dinner isn't about me.

It's about Ric. As usual.

Finally, Abuela Rosa produces dessert, a flan. Ric and I grin at the sight and I look at him.

"FLAN!" The entire table jumps.

Ric starts laughing and he laughs until the tears are rolling down his cheeks. Finally, he looks at me. "NO EFFING WAY!"

We're both cracking up now and the entire family looks at us. Ric gets up from the table, takes the flan from her hands, and looks at me. "Get the forks and the Kool-Aid." Abuela Rosa snatches the flan back, the entire table breaks into laughter and we all sit down and enjoy the flan.

I tell the tale of the 'Flan escape', heavily edited of course, and the entire table is rolling. Ric is shaking his head. "Most insane thing we ever did."

"Nah, but it's in the top five," I reply.

"Which 'Flan escape'? The one at six? Or the one in the Army?" Papa asks.

Ric and I look at each other and shrug. Both were insane. Both required us to back each other. Both were a team effort.

Ric is my cousin and best friend. It will **always** be us against the world. We'll back each other, fight any enemy, laugh and cry together.

Nothing will ever break us. Ever.

* * *

"_Your truest friends are the ones who will stand by you in your darkest moments-because they're willing to brave the shadows with you-and in your greatest moments-because they're not afraid to let you shine."—_Nicole Yatsonsky


	10. The End of Grief

**A/N: Prompt from shirleygirl2013. This takes place in Miami before Steph arrives.**

* * *

**The End of Grief**

"Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving,  
to realize she slept a good night's sleep, and will be able to eat breakfast,  
and doesn't hear her husband's ghost all the time, but only some of the time." ~ Jonathan Safran Foer

* * *

"Sneaking away?"

The voice is rough, sleep edged and amused. Maria stills, her clothes in hand. She'd meant to leave Rafe's room before he woke, but he must be a light sleeper. She feels caught, like a naughty child.

"Umm . . . " This is awkward. She's unsure. How do young women do this? How do they get up and walk away after a night of passion without feeling awkward and guilty?

Rafe slides from the bed and stands. "Stay," he says quietly. "I brought your toothbrush over." He flicks his eyes upward to her hair and smiles. "And I like your hair like that. Loose. Curly. Wild as hell." He smiles and leans forward. Maria is frozen in place as he kisses her cheek gently. He still smells of the cologne he wore last night as he twirled her around the dance floor.

He made her laugh.

He made her mad.

He made her eat dessert, take her shoes off at the beach, and laugh at the moon.

He made her feel _alive_.

* * *

Rafe steps into his kitchen and takes a deep breath. He managed to keep her from running. He hopes he managed to keep her from sliding away in shame, thinking she'd done something wrong. He hopes he kept her from feeling guilty.

He hates fighting against a dead man. Especially a perfect one. One who had no faults. One who clearly loved a spectacular woman until the day he died. He's been slowly courting Maria ever since they returned to Miami. Well, he started in Texas, but she didn't seem interested. He was still a friend, 'in the friend zone', as the Miami boys say. When they returned to Miami, something had changed. She was receptive. He was delighted.

Rafe pours a glass of orange juice and begins a light breakfast. Some croissants he'd picked up yesterday. Fresh butter he'd made himself (his favorite indulgence), orange marmalade, strawberry jam (her favorite), and some bacon. He puts the bacon on a baking sheet and pops that into the oven. He's listening to the bathroom closely, not to figure out what she's doing but to ensure she doesn't try to sneak away.

He hears her approach and turns around. "Eggs?"

"Scrambled," she says quietly. "I'll do that. You can use the bathroom, if you need to." She still hasn't looked up or at him, but she hasn't run.

"No, go ahead. I'll handle breakfast." He smiles. "Nearly done anyway." She smiles and leaves in the direction of his bathroom. He wanted to kiss her, passionately, but . . . morning breath is not sexy. He's trying to make sure she gets the full complement of him at his sexiest.

Ridiculous really. He was never 'sexy'. Thin and solid, perhaps. Responsible. Strong back, good legs, nice teeth. He's seen men who are sexy and dangerous. Ranger. Lester. Armando. Diego. Even Antonio, for all the boy is an asshole, is a handsome one. Those men stop traffic. They make young women sigh. Ranger and Lester are like the Pied Piper, with gorgeous women following them everywhere.

Rafe? He sighs. His best feature is his eyes. A clear gray, with a bit of blue. Solid, like the sea. He's built more like Hector, whip thin and slightly dangerous looking.

Luisa used to laugh and tell him that his eyes were his sexiest feature. "Like the sea but not the Miami sea," she said, her eyes laughing at him. Merry brown eyes with green in them. He loved her eyes. He loved her. He loves her. She's been gone for a decade now and the overwhelming ache has dulled to an occasional twinge. A twinge he feels when he looks at Katy, his daughter. Her spitting image.

He's seen the picture of his rival. Armand. A handsome man. He reminds Rafe of Andy Garcia, and who can compete with that?

Rafe turns his attention to the eggs. Scrambled, she said. Does that mean scrambled soft? Scrambled hard? Butter? Oil? He's at a loss until he thinks about the way he's seen her prepare eggs.

Scrambled soft in a non-stick pan with a small amount of butter and olive oil. Sea salt. No cheese. He finds his pans and scrambles a few eggs. Soft. He doesn't want to disappoint her. He thinks he managed it and he's proud. He removes the bacon from the oven and places it on paper towels to drain. Crispy, the way she always manages it. Two for two. Maybe, finally, his luck is turning.

He returns to the bedroom and retrieves the red rose he purchased from the sidewalk stall last night. He felt brave and he presented it gallantly. It made her laugh and that thrilled him. Watching her smile, watching her laugh, he loves seeing her happy. He takes the rose back to the kitchen and lays it next to her plate but stops and looks. Is that too much? He hears light footsteps and panics. He removes the rose.

Too much. Too soon. Not soon enough.

* * *

She stalled for time as long as she could. She brushed her teeth, combed her hair, then stopped. He liked how it looked curly and wild. She smiles. She likes wearing it that way but she's in the kitchen all day. No one wants to find hair in their food, so she's worn it this way for at least 20 years. Tied up tight in a French bun or a twist. Not a hair out of place. Now? She snorts and looks at her hair.

Her childhood vacations in Puerto Rico are screaming at her. She rarely combed her hair. She rarely wore shoes. She ate and laughed and had fun and her hair was tangled and twisted with her.

She runs her fingers through her hair, trying to make it curly again, and just succeeds in making it look messy. _Sigh_. Why I am trying? she thinks. He'll think I'm desperate and pathetic. She swallows hard and squares her jaw. No more. No more crying. I am who I am.

I'm fine just the way I am.

* * *

The conversation at breakfast is stilted. They both feel awkward and unsure. How do the young people do this? How do they manage to talk and laugh and be . . . calm with someone they'd been intimate with the night before? Maria sighs and Rafe looks up sharply. She smiles.

"Your eggs are wonderful," she says quietly.

He smiles, proud. "Thank you. I tried to remember how you do it and tried to replicate that. I'm glad I got it right."

She looks at her eggs and smiles. Perhaps a bit softer than she prefers but he came very close. They're nearly perfect. She takes a bite of her croissant and moans a little. Rafe watches her intently and she feels stupid for moaning over bread. "You'll have to tell me where you get your butter from," she says. "It's always the best."

He looks surprised and shrugs. "Maybe someday," he replies.

Breakfast is over soon after and, as she gathers her clothes and slips her feet into her shoes, Rafe quickly brushes his teeth. He walks her to his apartment door. Neither knows what to say, so Maria turns back to the door.

As she turns the handle, Rafe says, "Maria, wait." She turns, expecting to hear him say some pat statement about how he enjoyed the evening or . . . something.

No. Rafe takes her chin gently, moves closely, and gives her a kiss she feels in her toes. When it's over, and she has her senses back, he says, "Thank you."

No, Rafe. Thank **you.**

* * *

Her phone is ringing. She drops her clothes and runs for it, picking up right before the last ring.

"Maria!"

"Hello, Lula!" Hearing from Lula makes her feel wonderful. Lula's been calling almost every day trying to determine how she and Rafe are getting on, or not.

"Took you a long time to answer the phone!" Lula says, laughing. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, you nosy young woman," Maria replies saucily, and Lula laughs. "It's before 8 a.m. in Texas. What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"Nope. Just checking on you. I just finished breakfast and Tank's muttering you need to come home." Maria laughs. "I'm about to head downstairs and remind those boys that Lourdes and Eduardo need to feel welcome here too."

Maria curls up on her sofa and laughs. Her San Antonio boys are clear: Come HOME! We miss you! They call every other day to tell her what's going on out there. She's completely caught up on which boys are dating, which ones have broken up with their girlfriends, and who is just happy. They call with questions about the diet and they want to know if she's happy in Miami. They tell her they'll beg Tank to install a pool if it will entice her home. They tell her about Lula's diets, her efforts in the gun range, and whether or not she's slapped Lester up against his head lately.

Maria always has a headache after their calls. They're so funny!

She talks to Lourdes and offers emotional support. Lourdes is a funny woman also. She likes the company, her new coworkers (each lady calls on a separate night! So much support!) and the branch, but she and her husband are gearing up to move to Charlotte. She tells Maria that the boys treat her nicely and they like her, but they can't hide the fact that they **love** Maria and Rafe and want them to come home.

"Well, did you and Rafe go out last night?"

Maria colors. Perhaps . . . well, Lula is a woman of the world. Perhaps she can tell Lula. "Yes, we went out."

"And?"

"And . . . I fell asleep in his apartment."

"Oh yeah?" She can feel Lula's excitement. The knot in her belly is starting to loosen. "Did you allow him a kiss?"

"We spent the night kissing," she says quietly. Lots of kissing. Long passionate kisses. Hot steamy kisses. Kisses that made her think of doing more. Thank goodness Rafe was more restrained. She was feeling _wanton_.

"Yes!" Lula yells. "'Bout damn time too. You don't sound happy though."

"I am happy. I mean, it was perfect date. We had dinner out and we argued over the Rays and classic movies and he told me I remind him of Katy Jurado." Maria flops back and smiles at the ceiling. "I **loved** Katy Jurado as a child. She never played the subservient Latina. She was all fire and pride and when he told me I was like that, I . . ." She stops. She originally thought Rafe was teasing her, playing with her pride, but it was clear from the look on his face he meant it.

"Wanted to believe it but couldn't?" Yes! This is why she likes talking to Lula. Lula always understands. "Believe it. Rafe don't hand out comments trying to get in your panties." It's quiet for a moment. "You let him in your panties?"

"No!" Maria is scandalized and Lula laughs. Maria blushes; Lula was teasing her. "We spent the night kissing. Just kissing. Like teenagers. It was . . . sweet. I just fell asleep and I tried to leave but he caught me before I could get out of there. I was sneaking out with my jacket and shoes in hand when he spoke."

"Rule one of dating, Maria: if you fall asleep there, you don't leave without saying goodbye. Bad manners. You leave without saying goodbye and that's like saying you think it was a mistake." Lula snorts. "Tank had to teach me that one. He kept getting pissed that I'd sneak away. He was offended. I told him he snored to get him to shut up."

Maria laughs but she feels better. OK, so she nearly made an amateur mistake.

* * *

Rafe is on the treadmill.

He made progress last night and now he's not sure how to move forward. How long should he wait before asking her out again? Where should they go?

He's moving slowly. He knows that the fact that they work together is a negative. If it doesn't work out between them, they have to see each other every day. He doesn't want Maria to feel awkward or regretful.

He sighs mentally and wipes his brow. Does dating **ever** get easier?

He hears the pounding of footsteps next to him and he looks over. Diego, running at a fast clip on a high incline. They run in silence for thirty minutes before Diego pauses his machine and wipes his face and body. Jesus, the boy is a machine and he barely looks winded.

"Your thoughts are damn near yelling at me," Diego says, a slight smirk on his face.

"What are they yelling?" Rafe asks, amused.

"You want the next step. You're confused and nervous because you made progress but you don't know what to do now."

Rafe is stunned and silent. He's wondering how much his face was giving away.

Diego smiles slightly and leans close. "Get out of your apartment. That place has significance now," he says quietly. Rafe's eyes widen and Diego shakes his head. "I saw her leave and I scrambled the camera. No one else knows."

"What would you do?" The question was out before he could stop himself.

Diego purses his lips, thinking. "Farmer's Market. Shows interest in what she does, allows you to pick up some goodies, and you might get to cook a dinner for her. Nothing super romantic, just your best dish. It's out in the open, fresh air, and you get to tease each other with childhood memories." Diego smiles. "Please show her where you buy your butter. That stuff is fucking addictive."

Diego restarts his treadmill. Rafe steps off his, smiling slightly.

OK. Maybe.

* * *

The day begins and Maria and Rafe get started on their duties. Maria is in the prep area, reading over the instructions to make homemade yogurt. The stuff in the stores has so much sugar! She likes Greek yogurt and now she has plenty of time to experiment with making it on her own.

The men stop by periodically during the day to grab granola, yogurt, and water. They occasionally ask when she'll start cooking and she merely smiles and answers that she'll cook when she is allowed to. This always causes tight jaws and angry looks that are quickly masked. Antonio, especially, looks at her coldly. She smiles in the face of his annoyance and irritation and continues doing what she was doing before he arrived.

Maria's already made up her mind to go back to San Antonio. Miami is home but San Antonio is home too and the men supported her there. That's what tipped the scales here in Miami. The **entire** San Antonio branch supported her.

She asked Diego and Thomas to allow her to determine what the 'ground conditions' were like in Miami. Diego was clear that he was fine with that, but nervous.

"Maria, I just made a speech in front of the housekeeping committee, backed up in email, that I would **not** sit back and allow you to be disrespected. Now you're asking me to do just that," he said, bewildered and unhappy.

She smiled at him and Thomas, who also looked unhappy. "No, I'm asking you to do exactly what you did for my colleagues for a little while longer. I need to see that the men appreciate **me**, not just what I do, but me as a person. I will let you know when I need help and you can support me and do as you please then."

Diego stared at her but he finally nodded. "OK. You say the word and they're washing windows and wiping their own blood off the mats in minutes."

She winced then smiled. "OK."

Armando's decision not to sign her contract for two weeks was wonderful. She would begin cooking when Stephanie arrived and, like Diego, he was bewildered but compliant.

The boys on the housekeeping committee are her biggest cheerleaders. They show up regularly to ensure she's happy and has everything she needs. Jackson shows up regularly to talk about health and fitness, which is surprising. After his behavior after she returned, she expected a fight out of him. Instead, he has adapted and is interested in working with her. They make sure the men are prepared to go shopping with her, help her put the food away, and do anything she requests.

That's the problem. She still has to _request_ their assistance. If Mario and Deuce don't prod the men, they don't move to assist her without making it clear that they're doing it under sufferance. They find helping her restock the pantry useless if she's not cooking.

They respect the position. They still don't respect the woman _holding_ the position.

* * *

Juan is very nearly her sous chef. He brought her a new fancy apron.

"Um . . . " Juan suddenly looks embarrassed and upset. "I don't know how to say this except I saw this and thought you might like. I mean, your apron is nice, but not pretty. I see these things everywhere and I thought you might like one."

Juan feels like an idiot. Truth? He's been looking for a special gift to show Maria how much he understands and respects her and her position, a way to say 'I'm sorry for having been a grade-A asshole'. He wanted to get the special iPad holder for her so she would be able to put her iPad on a holder in the prep area but . . . that was considered a stupid present before so he avoided it.

She smiles, wipes the tears and hugs him tight. "Thank you, Juan. I appreciate it and you're right, this **is** a pretty apron."

He smiles, relieved. "Well, we were told a cookbook holder was not quite appropriate so I bought this and wondered if you would hate it. I'm glad you like it."

She laughs and wonders about the cookbook holder. That might not be a bad gift.

Juan and Maria bond over a shared love of cooking and good food and Juan becomes her shopping buddy. He admits that he enjoys having a new reason to get out of his office and he likes having help in the kitchen. He blushes saying that and Maria laughs. They start having lunch at new restaurants and they order different dishes and share. Juan has an excellent palate and they have fun trying to determine the ingredients in the restaurant-made dishes. They return to RangeMan and replicate the dishes and Diego and Thomas are teasing Juan about his skills. Braulio is wondering when they'll tackle Haitian cuisine.

He can't wait to help her with that.

* * *

Rafe's nearly done for the day and he's considering the next step in his 'Woo Maria' plan.

"Maria, I'm headed to the Farmer's Market tomorrow. Would you like to come?"

She looks surprised and happy. "Sure! What are you going for?"

He smiles. "Milk."

"Milk?"

Rafe is amused. "I'm going to show you how I get my butter."

Maria's eyes widen. Rafe's butter is a closely held secret. She's sampled pounds of butter trying to figure out which brand he buys. Everyone in Miami loves it. When he gives Maria a few balls, the butter is gone before the end of the day. So he's finally going to . . . wait, milk?

And the truth hits her: Rafe **makes** his butter.

* * *

Maria is looking at her wardrobe.

Skirt? Pants? Espadrilles? Sneakers? _Sigh_. This is ridiculous. She _always_ wears her shorts and a T-shirt to the farmer's market. Why is she looking at anything different?

Because she's not going alone. She's going with Rafe.

Maria decides on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and a headband.

And instead of sneakers, she'll wear a pair of espadrilles.

* * *

They're at the farmer's market by 9:45. It opens at 10 a.m., but this is a favorite one. It's organic and vegan and one of the city's best. Maria is having a blast picking up fresh organic vegetables and fruit.

Rafe's enjoying the way Maria's legs look in her shorts and high heeled espadrilles.

He finally drags his eyes away from her legs and starts picking up peppers and garlic. His best dish is _pollo al ajillo_, chicken in garlic, and he's decided to make that for her tonight, if she accepts his dinner invitation.

His phone rings. Katy. "_Hola, niña_."

"Papa! How are you? Where are you?"

He smiles. His daughter is her mother's child. A whirlwind. "I'm at the farmer's market in Coconut Grove. Want me to pick up anything for you?"

"No, I'm fine." His daughter just started her first job and he's proud. A financial analyst for a company based in Ecuador. Money's tight but she's determined to succeed. "Wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight."

Dilemma. He **never** passes up dinner with his baby. He worked hard after Luisa died to ensure Katy had everything she needed. His in-laws wanted to take her from him and he refused. He accepted their **help** but **he** was Katy's father. Frankly, he was insulted. After all, if he had died no one would have come to Luisa and offered to take Katy from **her**. He was there from the moment she was born. No one was taking her away from him.

Besides, Katy was his only reason to keep going after Luisa died.

He worked hard and made sure he stayed on her about the books and studying. He was there when she grieved the loss of her mother and needed a dress for homecoming and prom (four different dresses!). He was hostile to boyfriends and carefully watched her friends to make sure they wouldn't pull her into anything inappropriate. It paid off. His daughter is a well-adjusted young lady, and she graduated at the top of her class and got a master's degree.

Time with Katy is sacred.

"Certainly, Katy. I always want to have dinner with you. Where shall we go?"

"Actually, I thought that I would prepare dinner here at my apartment. You could invite Maria to come. I'd like to see her."

"Katy—"

"I'd love to." He whirls around and Maria's there, smiling. "All the years I've known you and I've only seen Katy three or four times. I'd love to see her again."

He smiles. "Well, you have two for dinner, Katy."

"Great! Bring toothbrushes. I'm prepping _pollo al ajillo_."

Rafe groans mentally. Damn. He'll need a new dish to impress Maria.

* * *

Maria is in her closet yet again. She never considered that she'd need to carefully consider her outfit this time. Rafe is . . . Maria frowns. She's not sure what to consider Rafe. Is he a boyfriend? Suitor? She likes the word suitor more. Rafe's not a boy. He's a man, an incredibly sexy man, and he's growing on her.

What do you wear to meet your . . . suitor's daughter? She stares at her closet, picks up her phone and dials without thinking.

"Hello?"

"Lula? I need help." She tells Lula about dinner with Katy and Lula hums thoughtfully.

"Wear that green sundress you have, the one you bought out here. Put on some espadrilles and makeup and smile a lot."

Maria was staring at that sundress wondering if it was appropriate. Lula made her feel better about wearing it.

* * *

Rafe's wondering what to wear.

Normally he'd wear something grungy, just in case Katy needs something fixed. She normally needs something fixed when she calls with a dinner date. But he's taking Maria and Maria will be dressed nicely. He'd prefer to look like he . . . belonged with her.

He'd prefer not to look like the Mexican handyman standing next to her.

He calls Katy and asks what she needs fixed. Katy laughs and pretends to be insulted before finally admitting that the toilet is running and it drives her crazy. Rafe exhales. Running toilets are easy. He can dress nicely for this dinner.

* * *

The toilet was an easy fix, as he hoped, and Katy's thrilled not to hear it running every time she flushes. Rafe shows her what he did to fix it and she and Maria smile in appreciation. Katy and Maria start talking and Maria offers to help Katy, but Katy declines and pours Maria a glass of wine. Rafe watches as his two favorite women talk about food, shopping, fashion and Miami. They're easy with each other and he feels calm and happy watching them.

Katy's been after him to make a move on Maria for years, but he explained that Maria was still grieving her husband. Katy was impatient and insisted that her father should make a move. He stopped her with one sentence.

"How long will it take before you forget your mother?"

Katy was chagrined. After that, she stayed quiet and watched her father wait for the woman his heart yearned for. She understood. She tried to set him up with other women but it never worked. Her father was in love with his quiet, grieving co-worker and he would wait.

Katy is determined to marry a man like her father, a man who would wait for the right woman for as long as it takes.

They sit down to dinner and enjoy the meal. Rafe silently wonders how much garlic Katy used. She had to use more than the usual amount of garlic in that dish. She was always fond of garlic and onions. Rafe's glad he did bring his toothbrush. Katy's dish should have scared every vampire in the state.

Maria loved it. She loves garlic and onions and thought Katy got the dish just right. She compliments Katy and Katy laughs.

"Dad always thinks I use too much garlic and too many onions."

They spend the next 30 minutes teasing Rafe and telling jokes about him. Rafe's amused but willing to be the butt of jokes if it keeps them talking. He finally blows a breath at his daughter and watches her scrunch her nose and yell. He laughs and goes to brush his teeth, smiling all the way.

Katy drops all smiles and looks at Maria. "Are you finally ready to give my dad a chance?"

Maria freezes. She feels caught off guard and exposed. "What?"

Katy sighs. "My dad. Have you considered giving him a chance?"

Maria blushes deep red. This is a conversation she's not ready for, but as she looks at Katy, she sees someone who is fiercely protective of her father. That she understands.

"I'm ready. Your father knows. We're . . ." She colors and is silent. How can she explain? "We're taking our time."

Katy nods. "Good. You both lost someone. I understand." She smiles. "Dad's had to hold me back. I wanted him to chase you years ago."

Maria blushes. Well, Katy doesn't oppose their relationship. That's a relief.

* * *

"So, you start with cold heavy cream, as cold as you can get it without freezing it."

Maria's taking notes. Rafe's butter is beloved in the branch and he was never willing to share the secret before. Now he's showing her how he does it and she wants **every** secret.

"Use the best milk you can find. I like Jersey cream. Higher butterfat content in the milk." He hands her the glass bottle full of rich cream. His fingers brush against hers and she tries not to blush.

"It's much richer. I love the taste."

He smiles. "Exactly. If I can get my hands on some raw milk, I party." She laughs and makes a note. "Good cold heavy cream is the base. So, I pour the entire quart into the mixing bowl." He waves for her to stand in front of the mixer and pour the cream in. She pours slowly, conscious of how close Rafe is to her. She turns slightly and hands him the glass, fingers brushing yet again. Rafe is quiet, staring at her face.

"What's next?" She doesn't recognize her voice. It sounded . . . breathless.

Rafe blinks and looks at the mixer as if he's never seen it before. "Attach the whip." Maria turns back to the mixer, lifts the head, and attaches the whip. "So start it at high speed and we're going to let it whip until it looks like whipped cream." Maria watches in astonishment as the cream becomes whipped cream, then starts looking grainy. Rafe stops the blender.

"OK, so this is where I add the sea salt if I want salted butter," he says quietly. He sounds as if he's right next to her ear and Maria's feeling a bit _wanton_ again. "Celtic sea salt. Otherwise, I keep whipping."

"That's it?" Maria laughs. "That's all? That's the secret? Whip cream until it becomes butter?"

Rafe nods and Maria smiles. "I feel so silly. When I whipped cream past the usable point for buttercream frosting, I tossed it. A few more minutes and I would have had butter?" Rafe nods again, smiling. They watch as the cream becomes butter, a grainy yellow mass in Maria's mixer.

After about 10 minutes, Rafe stops the mixer. It's clearly butter. Maria hands him the fine mesh colander but he waves for her to stand in front of the sink. "Rinse it under cold water," he says, plunging her hands into the butter and moving them around. She gets the idea and starts rinsing the butter. "You have to remove all the buttermilk. If you don't, it'll go bad overnight in the fridge." Once it runs clear, he helps her pack it into cheesecloth and start squeezing the water from the butter, his hands on top of hers to help her get the idea. "If you want to add herbs, honey, anything else, now is the time."

She unwraps the cheesecloth and he hands Maria a croissant. She breaks off a piece and uses a butter knife to spread to fresh homemade butter onto the bread. Wonderful, as usual. She moans. It's superb. She opens her eyes to find Rafe staring at her intently.

This time she knows and she's prepared.

She kisses him back, just as hard and deep.

They'll put the butter in the fridge at some point.

In his office, Diego scrambles the camera to the prep room and smiles. He hustles to the 4th floor, quietly shuts the door, and prays they transfer to San Antonio with him.

* * *

She's survived two weeks in Miami and has seen what conditions were like here.

She informs Ella that she would like to transfer to San Antonio but she wants it kept a secret.

"No problem. Shall I tell Stephanie?"

"Yes, but no one else."

"Rafe?"

"I'll tell him today." _Click._

She turns and Rafe is smiling. She pulls all her courage together and steps closer to him.

"I can't tell you where to go or what to do," she says quietly. "I can tell you that if you choose not to come to San Antonio I will miss you dearly."

"Don't worry," he replies. "I think we're a package deal at this point." '**IDIOT**!' he thinks.

Maria likes the thought. Rafe will be with her. She won't have to face this move alone. "Great. I can't wait."

Rafe smiles mentally. Away from Miami, away from the memories, they can try. **They** would be somewhere that would support them both. The San Antonio boys will throw a party when they return. He groans mentally. The SA boys will throw a party if they think he and Maria are dating. They won't get **any** peace.

He looks at Maria, at the happy smile on her face and the far-away expression in her eyes and smiles.

Peace is overrated.

* * *

Somewhere, in the heart and memory of a lonely woman, a pain dislodges and a shell cracks. The memory of a wonderful man, a loving husband, is finally set free and joins the memory of a much loved and missed wife. They watch in happiness as their loved ones make cautious and halting steps toward each other. The pain will never go away entirely. The memory will always be there. The love can never be forgotten. But life goes on and love?

Love is always there.

* * *

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."

and

"Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form."

~Rumi


	11. The War at Home

**A/N: You guys asked for this one. One Shot Prompts from Lyllyn, babesrus2, and Meyzen. It took me a long time to get the Muse working on this one and it's a long one.**

**Keep the Kleenex (or the RangeMan hankies) handy. Those of you who are mothers, get two boxes.**

* * *

**The War at Home**

_"There's nothing wrong with narcissists that reasoning with them won't aggravate."_

* * *

There was never any equality in the fight.

From the moment Armando Rafael Cortes was born, he was always behind the eight-ball. Never the front-runner. Never the winner.

He started off wrong by being six days late. Not his fault. He had no idea that the doctor had assigned him a birth date and that, by being late, he'd disrupted his mother's careful plan. Armando should have been first, so Connie could smile smugly at her sister and congratulate herself for having a beautiful baby boy first. Armando came when nature decided it was his time, but this was held against him for years.

Antonio Felix Delgado had done things correctly. He'd arrived on time and was a calm and happy baby from the start. He was also incredibly beautiful. A perfectly shaped head (C-Sections make that possible), long eyelashes, a cute button nose, and soft skin. Chita showed her baby off everywhere and enjoyed the way everyone cooed over him. He was her prize after so many years of heartache and frustration. Her husband finally adored her again. She'd not only gotten it right, having a son the first time, but he was a handsome boy. A boy Felix was proud to show off everywhere.

Armando looked like a reject from the baby pile. Since he was a vaginal birth, it took time for his features to settle into the right places. In the meantime, people looked at Connie's first son and cooed insincerely. He was an ugly baby. Pale, bumpy skin, odd eyes (are they black or blue or gray?), one ear bent forward, and a cone head. He suffered from colic and his eyes didn't move together.

Connie was embarrassed that her first son was so ugly and vowed never to have another.

Pedro didn't care. He had a son and his family adored the boy. Pedro himself was a handsome man and his family all tried to console Connie by telling her that Pedro hadn't been the most handsome baby at birth either. It took about a month for his skin to clear, three months for his eye color to settle, and a year for the colic to subside. Pedro smiled at his wife, who was stone-faced. Her perfect sister had given birth to a perfect baby boy a week ahead of her while she had this . . . ugly thing.

Connie wished she'd married Felix. He loved her and he'd wanted to marry her, but she'd wanted to make him jealous. She'd wanted to make him work for her and she decided to date Pedro. They got carried away one night and she ended up pregnant. She was forced to marry him and Chita got Felix.

Pedro wasn't so bad. He became a businessman and was determined to give her a good life. Their first two girls were beautiful. Now Pedro had given her an ugly son.

He could have that ugly thing. She didn't want him.

* * *

By the time Tony and Mando started school, their roles were set. Tony was the golden boy. He'd learned to read by three, do simple math by four, and was charming and helpful to adults. They loved him. He was a beautiful little boy, graceful, well-mannered, and likeable. He was always clean and presentable, the little angel.

Mando was the scapegoat. He didn't learn to read until almost five, but once he learned he was a powerhouse. He read everything. Nothing was safe from him but, in his mother's eyes, it didn't make up for the fact that he was two years behind Tony. Mando also learned simple math by five. Still, it didn't help his standing with his mother or his aunt. His aunt snickered and called him 'slow' and 'simple'. His mother said nothing at all. His uncle felt bad for the little boy but _his_ son was the smart handsome one. He liked to smile at Connie, a smile that said _Tony could have been your son, if only you'd chosen me._

Pedro didn't care. His little boy could read and do simple sums. He would spend his nights, after he came home from his lawn care business, teaching Mando how to do simple math with the account books. Mando cherished time with his Daddy and he and his father were a tight little unit. Even the birth of Ernesto didn't change that. Mando kept an eye on his baby brother and the two of them, and their Daddy, played together as a group.

Mando was well-liked by other children and played well in groups. He was seen as a good team player and the right man to have if you needed a win. He was just a solid player. Tony? Tony had lots of ability, but he wasn't a team player. Everything was about him. He had to be the captain. He had to be the one in charge. He had to be the one to make the game-winning shot or score the goal. So Tony wasn't chosen for team sports unless the adults put him on a team. Mando was usually chosen first or second and frequently elected captain.

Tony had gone home crying to his mother and only a lollipop and a new toy had calmed him. It was hard not to believe him; he was so upset. He complained that Mando was telling everyone not to choose him for teams and not to play with him. Mando was jealous of his abilities and now the other kids hated him.

Connie chased Mando around the house and backyard until she caught him and whipped him for turning the other children against Tony. She turned him loose and locked him out of the house for the rest of the day. Pedro came home to complete confusion and finally found his son in a corner of the backyard, asleep. Mando wept in his father's arms and told him that he didn't tell anyone not to pick Tony. The other kids hated Tony because he was a bully and he didn't play nice.

Pedro comforted his son as best he could. He took him inside, cleaned him up and fed him some soup, Connie glaring at Mando the entire time. He rocked Mando until Mando went to sleep, then went looking for his wife and found her in the kitchen, cleaning up. She had not fed Mando all day.

"Connie?"

She looked up, a calm look on her face. Pedro stepped right up to her and looked his wife, his biggest mistake, in her face.

"If I ever come home and find you've whipped my son, I'll divorce you that day." All color drained from Connie's face and she reached out and grabbed the counter to steady herself. "You will never whip my son again and you will **never** refuse to feed him."

"Tony said—"

"Tony's a little liar," Pedro growled. "I've watched the boys at the park. Mando always gets chosen because he's a team player. Tony is a bully and he always has to be the leader. That's why he's never chosen. You whipped my son for nothing. You whipped my son over lies his cousin told without asking him to explain."

"Tony's a natural born leader," she cried. "He's smart—"

"Being smart has nothing to do with leadership. Leadership is getting people to do what they have to do. It's not something that can be learned from books. The other children follow Mando and want Mando to play with them because he plays fair. He doesn't have to take over to lead. Tony isn't wanted because he's a pain in the behind. If you don't do it Tony's way, Tony makes you miserable."

_Like you and your selfish sister_, Pedro thought. _I'd divorce you if I weren't faithful to my faith._

Pedro glared at her before leaving the kitchen. Connie watched him leave, a cold hatred settling in her heart.

Her husband threatened to divorce her because her son was a little liar, lying against his cousin and pretending that he hadn't told the other children to ignore Tony. Her son was just as ugly in spirit as he had been in looks the day he'd been born.

* * *

Tony grew into the promise of his looks. His self-confidence drew girls to him in flocks and he dated only the prettiest and smartest. Chita gave her son big sums of money and shopped for him constantly. He had the best of everything: clothes, shoes, watches, etc. If it was fashionable, Tony Delgado had it first. Chita and Felix were proud of their son, of his grades, of the fact that he was already taking college classes, and they bought him a car. Nothing big or special. Just a used Mustang, a year old. Their insurance premiums went through the roof, but Tony had earned it.

Tony totaled the car within six months. His excuse? It was slippery after a major rainstorm and the brakes had failed. The police had a different determination: Reckless driving and speeding, which caused him to slide into a concrete bunker. The passenger side of the car was completely smashed in and the police had been relieved to find that the young idiot was alone in the car when he totaled it.

His parents were outraged. Tony said the brakes failed so the police needed to investigate that more closely. In the meantime, they bought him another Mustang.

It took him 18 months to total that one. He walked away unscathed but his girlfriend at the time (using the term loosely; she was merely the girl he was sleeping with the most) had a broken ankle and seatbelt burn. Her entire right side hurt and, to this day, she knows when it's about to rain because her ankle swells. That's incredibly inconvenient in a city like Miami, but the Delgados tried to pin the accident on her. She was leaning across to tease Tony, distracting him, and he lost control of the car, they claimed.

Her parents sued and they settled out of court. Tony received a third Mustang after complaining about driving his mother's Camry for months.

Mando received a driver's license at 16 but Connie wouldn't even consider buying him a car. She wouldn't allow him to drive any of the family cars either. It was embarrassing but his mother held firm. Tony was responsible, had good grades and was winning prizes all over the city and he still had car trouble. Mando had good grades but he didn't need a car. He spent his time helping his father with the lawn care business, mowing yards, pulling weeds, and setting up sprinkler systems. That was the only reason she allowed him to get his license, so he could help his father and drive the work truck.

Pedro taught his son (actually, all his children) to drive using his work trucks. All three Cortes boys (Mateo having been born shortly after Pedro threatened to divorce Connie) were known as hard workers. Pedro put his sons on the payroll and taught them the value of a dollar.

They idolized their father.

Pedro was helping Mando buy his first car but he also sat Mando down and had him research cars and their costs penny by penny. Did Mando really need a car? Mando considered this. No, he really didn't. Where would he go? When he and his friends got together and went to the movies or out to eat, someone else had a car and he was willing to chip in gas money in exchange for a ride. He and his friends did things as a group and he had a loyal group of friends who were always ready to help him out.

Anyone who spent any small amount of time in the Cortes household quickly realized that Mando lived in a war zone. Mr. and Mrs. Cortes spent as little time together as possible. The Cortes girls (Isabella, Bianca, and Josefina) were beautiful and lively and their mother adored them. The few times any of Mando's friends showed any interest in Bella or Bianca, Mrs. Cortes became frosty until they backed off. Mando's friends weren't good enough for her daughters.

Tony's asshole friends were different. They were college boys and high school seniors, closer to Bella's and Bianca's ages, and they were warmly welcomed and encouraged to date her daughters. Bella's second date with one of Tony's friends ended so horribly she never spoke of it. She cautioned her sister never to date any of Tony's friends, no matter how wonderful Mamí thought the match was.

The next time Bella saw that particular young man, she put a knee in his groin and told him to quit smirking at her or he'd have one less appendage to wag. Tony's friends spread rumors about the Cortes girls, that they were lesbians, and both girls sighed in relief.

_Better a lesbian than raped_, Bella thought.

Tony was furious because his cousins were considered beautiful and lots of guys got close to him to date them. He didn't care; he got close to them to ingratiate himself with their families, some of Miami's leading families. Now with the word out that his cousins were lesbians, his friends disappeared. He had no other use for Bella or Bianca. He was smarter than they were and they were girls. He couldn't understand why _tío_ Pedro was sending them to college in the first place. They'd end up getting married and having babies anyway.

That was a waste of money. He and his father laughed, his father remarking that Pedro was educating his daughters into spinsterhood. What man wants a woman who thinks she's smarter than he is?

Tony's loss of friends was Mando's fault, according to Connie. Mando had brought his low-class friends into her home and now her daughters were assaulting and insulting handsome young men simply for showing an interest in them. Tony's friends were the sons of some of the best families in the city. Her girls would have it made if they married up into those families.

Pedro congratulated Bella for her quick thinking and taught her and Bianca to throw a punch.

The younger Cortes boys were friendly and handsome and their mother spoiled them. They had the best of everything: game systems, toys, clothes, shoes; you name it, Ernesto and Mateo had it. Ernesto ran track and Mateo played basketball, so Connie bought them the best supplies and gear for their sports. She made sure the entire family turned out to attend their games and track meets. Ernesto decided to join the band and Connie bought him a brand new saxophone.

Mando's room was nearly empty. His clothes and shoes were purchased by his father, so they were more utilitarian than stylish, but they were kept neat and tidy. Eventually, Pedro noticed the imbalance and gave his son money to purchase his own clothes and shoes. That's how Mando finally had a chance to be as stylish and hip as the other boys. Mando played basketball and his father bought his gear. Pedro, Bianca and Ernesto attended his games. Mando's room did not have any posters on the walls, no TV in his room, nothing that made the room look personal. Mando had a boom box and a CD player. That was all.

Mando had no explanation for it. When asked, he merely shrugged his shoulders and said, "She loves Tony. She wishes I was Tony." Personally, he felt he only had his own room so his mother could press home the fact that he was unwanted. When guests visited, he was always forced to give up his room and sleep with his little brothers.

Knowing Tony, all of his friends pitied him. Tony was a major-league asshole. Their girlfriends would dump them for a chance to date Tony Delgado and end up crying on their shoulders, begging to be taken back. Occasionally they did get back together and, with a smirk and a crook of his finger, Tony Delgado would take them away again. Mando's friends hated Tony and it was worse if Tony was there when they were all together at the Cortes home, trying to chill and hang out.

Tony would look over and complain to Mrs. Cortes that he was having problems concentrating on his AP Calculus homework or his _**college **_psychology paper and she would glare at all of them until they got the point to leave. They ended up at someone else's home and Mando began to encourage that.

No matter how bad his friends thought their homes were, their parents cared. Their houses were warm and loving and, if love had a feeling, Mando felt it every time he walked into one of his friends' homes.

It made going home, to his house, so much harder.

* * *

Tony graduated as salutatorian. He was beaten by a girl and he railed for months that the teachers had given her better grades and hadn't graded her essays as harshly as his. That's the only reason why she beat him. The valedictorian smirked and told him, in front of his family, that he wasn't half as smart as he thought he was. She finally revealed her SAT score, a closely held secret that he'd been dying to know all senior year.

Her score was 150 points higher than his. He was floored. She rubbed salt in the wound by telling him that she had not taken the SAT her senior year. That was her _junior_ year score. She knew it was good. She didn't feel any need to improve it. _Now_, she said, her hands on her hips and smirking at him, _how are you going to explain that? The SAT is a national test. It's graded by Scantrons. How did I cheat there, hmm?_

She then proceeded to call him an asshole in front of his family and friends before revealing that she was headed to Harvard in the fall. She heard he was rejected from Harvard, which wouldn't surprise her. Harvard already had enough over-privileged assholes walking around. Why add another to the mix?

The Delgados were quietly furious. They started to complain to the principal, Mr. Lincoln, but he raised a hand.

"They've graduated. They're adults. She can say whatever she wants to him and I have no standing to say anything else. I **will** tell you this, Mrs. Delgado."

Mr. Lincoln looked at the Delgados and Mrs. Cortes, helicopter parents if he'd ever met any, and relished the words he was about to say. He'd wanted to say them for four long years.

"I expect Tony will not be a success in life." Connie and Chita both gasped. "I expect Armando to be the big success. Armando knows how to work hard, how to get along with people, and how to sacrifice to make things happen. Tony? You've spoiled Tony. You've given him everything he's ever wanted. Tony won't know how to recover from failure because you've always complained on his behalf. I expect college and adulthood to be a big shock to Tony."

Mr. Lincoln smiled at Mr. Cortes and walked away. He'd watched the two cousins for four years and marveled at the fact that Mando clearly did not receive the love and attention from his family, with the exception of his father, that Tony did. The way the family treated Mando was an open secret among the faculty and staff of the school and they felt for the handsome young man who never seemed to get a break.

They wrote wonderful letters of recommendation to help him get into the University of Florida. Mando's grades put him on the cusp. He hadn't taken the AP and college classes his cousin had to boost his GPA. He was a smart young man, in the top 15% of the class and diligent, but UF was competitive. It was hard to get in, but nearly everyone on staff had called the admissions office and lobbied for Armando Cortes.

Mando was stunned the day his acceptance to UF came. His father took him out and they celebrated, just the two of them. Every time Tony got a new acceptance from some school, Chita framed it and bragged to her sister that everyone wanted her son. Now Mando had gotten into the school he'd wanted to attend and he and his father celebrated alone, the way Mando wanted. He didn't want to brag. He didn't want his accomplishment belittled.

Pedro and Mando began working on the financial aid paperwork and, even though Pedro owned and operated a prosperous business, he couldn't afford the room and board expenses for Mando. Bella and Bianca were a strain already and Mando might break him. He started considering how he could do it. He'd move heaven and earth for his son, his eldest son who had never given him a problem, had always made him proud, had never asked for or complained about anything.

He was ready to take a loan out against the business when Mando came home and told him he had signed up to go ROTC in college. The Marines would pay for Mando and he would be able to serve his country, go to school, and not cost his father a penny. Mando was proud that he'd taken care of the financing for his papa, but something in Pedro's soul broke that day.

His son was willing to put his life on the line to prevent him from having to take out loans and debt to finance his education. His son, who'd never asked for anything, had taken care of paying for college on his own. He was proud of Mando and ashamed he couldn't help him more.

* * *

Mr. Lincoln was right. Away from their families for the first time, it was easy to see who would be the success and who wouldn't.

Armando was finally going to win a battle.

Mando quickly gained a reputation in ROTC as a steady soldier. Hardworking and always prepared, he never let his fellow midshipmen down. He always passed inspection, he always passed physicals, and he was always ready for anything. His instructors watched. Most recruits like that turned out to be assholes but the opposite was true of Armando Cortes. He was simply ready.

A team player. A natural leader.

Meanwhile, Mando fell for the funny, outspoken, sexy girl he met in freshman orientation. Mariela Ruiz was from Tampa but she'd spent summers in Miami. Mando was surprised to find she'd spent her summers five blocks over from his home. Then again, he spent summers with his father, mowing lawns. When would he ever have met her?

Mari and Mando hit it off immediately. Mariela liked Armando's steady, patient nature and he was **hot**. Girls at UF were jealous because Armando was considered as having one of the sexiest bodies on campus and he was hers. He was smart and funny and when other girls hit on him, he was polite but not especially encouraging. Mari was clearly his and he was devoted to her. Other girls sighed and were catty to Mari, jealous that she'd gotten a good guy who was also sexy and not a dud.

Her parents met him and actually liked him. That surprised Mari. Normally her parents hated her boyfriends, but Mando was different. He and her father spoke man to man the first time they ever met and, although Mari had no idea what was said between them, her father gave her his blessing to date Armando. By junior year, Mari was thinking about weddings and babies, but Mando splashed some cold water on her dream.

"I still have a commitment to the military. You'll be a military wife. Is that what you want?"

Mari kissed him and said that she wanted him, so if the military came with that, OK.

Mando was nervous about introducing her to his family. His father had met her and he loved Mari. She and Mr. Cortes teased each other and talked about baseball, _fútbol,_ cooking and politics. Pedro Cortes chided his son for falling for some spitfire _Boricua_ and Mari laughed and told Pedro to get used to it. She wasn't going anywhere.

Pedro was thrilled. His son would know happiness in his marriage. His son would never have the pain of having his wife's eyes look at another in regret.

Pedro and Mando both knew the time was rapidly approaching for the rest of the family to meet Mari, so to alleviate the pressure on Mando, Pedro took his future daughter-in-law out one afternoon and explained the Cortes-Delgado family to her. It was the only source of friction between Mari and Mando, Mando's steadfast determination not to talk about his family. Mari's heart broke listening to Pedro describe his wife and in-laws and she finally understood why Mando didn't talk about them.

"I'm asking you, Mariela, to be patient with Mando when it comes to the family," Pedro said, tears in his eyes. "You'll understand more when you meet Antonio. I think everything will be crystal clear for you then."

* * *

Meanwhile, Tony Delgado was having just as many problems as Mr. Lincoln declared he would.

Without his mother around to bully people into 'correcting' their impressions, Tony was failing for the first time ever. Not schoolwork; Tony was smart and bright and his work was always technically correct. However, FIT is a school that also prides itself on creativity. As a training ground for astronauts and adventurers, there's a strong sense of creative ambition amongst the students, a determination to find and explore new things.

Tony did just enough while his classmates learned how to program new solutions and market them. Many of his classmates dropped out and became Internet entrepreneurs, overnight millionaires at 21. Tony was completely blocked from joining those groups; everyone knew he was an asshole and most likely to steal your idea and patent it himself. You didn't allow Tony Delgado to join unless you had a stinker of an idea you wanted to pass to him to watch him fail.

Tony borrowed money from his parents, 'borrowed' ideas and attempted to patent and market them to interested parties. He sunk $50,000 of his parents' money before his father said enough.

"Try finishing school, Tony," his father said, annoyed. "Quit trying to be a success overnight."

"He just needs a little more money to market the idea," Chita whined to her husband. "All his friends and classmates are successfully marketing big ideas. Tony has big ideas. He just needs you to believe in him more."

Felix held firm, so Chita started slipping Tony money on the sly. Well, she thought she was sly. Felix had control over every bank account in the family and, after his wife lied spectacularly about the $10,000 advance she gave Tony, he cut off her access to every bank account except one. That bank account only had $5,000 and it was supposed to be used for the household. Felix then called and put credit limits on every single credit card Tony had. He clipped his son's wings and Chita and Tony never forgave him for it, especially after one of the few real ideas he had was successfully marketed and patented by another classmate.

Felix didn't care. His business was doing well, but his wife and son were bottomless drains. They didn't work. They didn't understand what it meant to work hard and sacrifice. He cut them both off.

The students at FIT enjoyed passing bad ideas to Tony Delgado. He was such an asshole and watching him fail was fun. It almost became a game: Who could humiliate Tony Delgado most?

They learned: a woman.

He despised being shown up by a woman on any level. When a female classmate out-programmed him, he chalked it up to male assistance. When a female professor marked him badly, he complained to the male department heads to get it changed. When the female campus police officer gave him a ticket, he refused to take it. She shrugged and let him go on his way.

Refusal to take the ticket did not relieve him of the responsibility to pay it, as he learned late one night as he walked outside to find a boot on his car.

Unlike high school, women in college weren't interested in Tony. At least not the brilliant women at FIT. They looked at Tony and saw a sexist asshole, someone who belittled their accomplishments in class, ignored them in study groups, and always, _always_ double checked their portion of the group work. Their professors shrugged and said _Welcome to the real world of computer engineering. It's male dominated and you'll have to work twice as hard to be thought of as half as competent_.

Fury didn't begin to describe their reaction to that response but, later in life, some of those women would appreciate that the professors had not run interference. They had one Tony Delgado in college; they had 20 of them at work. Having to deal with Tony toughened them up considerably and prepared them to battle assholes for the rest of their lives. They learned how to handle men like that learning how to put Tony Delgado in his place.

Meanwhile, Tony partied in the clubs with guys from other colleges and dated their women. They loved Tony. An FIT student, sexy, handsome, charming, Tony had it all. His new friends helped him make contact with other groups and businesses in the city. His mother bought him a professional suit and had it tailored and he mingled with the rich and powerful. He had his first job lined up while still in college because he knew how to schmooze and say the right things to the (male) managers in charge.

Chita Delgado was thrilled. Her son was going to be a success. Mr. Lincoln was wrong.

* * *

The dinner where Mariela Ruiz met the combined Cortes-Delgado family was awkward and uncomfortable. Mari drove (Mando still didn't have a car) and when they pulled up outside, Mando locked the doors. Mari looked over at him.

"I know you love me. I love you," he said, and Mari smiled. "Don't feel the need to defend me. Don't feel the need to try to correct their impressions. It's useless. And if Tony hits on you, beat the shit out of him. OK?"

"OK," she replied softly, and Mando kissed her. They got out of the car and Mari had her first glimpse of her future mother-in-law.

The woman did not have the slightest look of welcome on her face and Mari nearly froze at the sight of her. Mando didn't. "Mother."

"Armando. You could have directed your friend to park somewhere else. Antonio will need space to park when he arrives."

"Of course, Mother," Mando replied blandly, leading Mari inside. Mari opened her mouth, to volunteer to move her car, when Mando shook his head sharply. So Mari closed her mouth and smiled, tremulously, at Mrs. Cortes.

"Mrs. Cortes, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

Mrs. Cortes smiled. "I'm sorry I cannot say the same. Armando has told me nothing of you, not even your name."

Cue awkward silence, alleviated by the appearance of Pedro in the doorway.

"Mariela!" She beamed and happily hugged Mr. Cortes. She pulled away from him to see Mrs. Cortes had turned even colder than she had been initially. Pedro didn't care. He was determined to make up for his wife's arctic welcome. "How are you? Keeping my son in line?"

"I'm trying," she replied. "Mando is stubborn, you know that," she said, laughing. Armando rolled his eyes.

"Yes, he always was a difficult child. Always doing something," Mrs. Cortes said. The front stoop was silent for a moment before Pedro turned back to Mari.

"Please, come in. Are you staying overnight?"

Mrs. Cortes laughed. "I assume you mean, does she have family in the neighborhood, right?" She looked at Mari. "After all, it would be highly inappropriate for you and my son to share a room here. Not under my roof."

"Odd," Bianca said, approaching. "That's not the approach you took last month when Tony brought his latest _puta_ home. Hello, Mari," she said. She gave Mari a big hug. "About time you came to meet the entire family."

"You two have met?" Connie asked.

"Yes," Bianca replied. "Hard not to get wind of the fact that my little brother was considered the sexiest man on campus and that Mariela Ruiz had caught his eye." Bianca laughed. "I was glad I only had to hear it for two years."

"Armando is considered sexy at college?" Mrs. Cortes asked in wonder. She laughed, not a kind laugh. "I thought the University of Florida had athletes everywhere on campus. Football and basketball players, handsome young men. I mean, my son isn't ugly but . . . "

Mari couldn't believe what she was hearing. Pedro was right. This woman was poisonous. By now the family was in the kitchen/dining room and everyone was listening avidly. Pedro had directed Mari to the seat of honor and placed Mando next to her, thereby displacing his nephew and annoying sister-in-law.

"Armando is considered one of the most handsome men on campus," Mari said, trying to rein in her temper. "His looks are improved further by the fact that he's also considered kind and gracious. A true gentleman. On UF's athlete-heavy campus, Mando's manners and kindness set him apart from and above men who are merely nice-looking."

Pedro was thrilled. The _Boricua_ spitfire his son had chosen was showing her mettle now! She would **not** allow Mando to be slandered. Bianca was impressed by Mando's girlfriend. Rarely did anyone challenge Consuela Cortes and now someone had. And from the look on her mother's face, Mamí did not appreciate the challenge.

"And of course Mari will stay," Pedro said. "As Bianca said, that's not the approach you take with Tony, so you won't treat our son any different. Mari, where are your bags?"

"I left them in the trunk," Mari replied nervously. She pulled her keys but whispered to Pedro, "I can stay with my family. They're aware I'm in town."

Pedro shook his head. "Nope. I'm tired of watching my son be ill-treated. He's brought his future wife home. She is welcome under my roof." Mari smiled and sat back down.

Connie watched this in astonishment. Clearly her husband was well aware of this girl and her importance to Armando. She looked at Armando, but he merely gazed at her. Something in the boy had changed. Before, he would look at her with a needy, hopeful look on his face. Connie had never recognized that look as the face of a boy who wanted desperately to be loved by his mother, but she did recognize that it meant he was ripe to be kicked emotionally. It gave her pleasure to give him pain, to make him hurt the way he'd made her hurt from the moment he drew breath.

Now? Mando's face and eyes were shuttered. She couldn't read him. She couldn't figure out when and how to attack him. She looked at the girl, at the love and devotion clear on her face, and realized that attacking the girl might cause Armando to attack her, his mother. Assuming the girl left anything for Mando to attack. She was clearly ready to defend him against everyone.

Armando neither wanted nor needed her love anymore. Mariela, this new girl, was the love of his life. She was the one he needed.

* * *

"Who parked in my spot?" Tony bellowed as he walked through the door. The family had spent the past hour getting to know Mariela. Only Bianca and Pedro knew her and the family was astonished to see the easy relationship Pedro and Mari had. They teased each other, talked _fútbol_ and politics, and talked about future plans. It was all but acknowledged that Mando and Mari would get married. Neither had any doubt.

Pedro looked over at his nephew and, before his wife could say a word, he responded. "This is not your home, Antonio."

It was said sternly and the Delgados froze in the living room. Pedro stood, Connie standing furiously with him. "We have a guest in our home. Please conduct yourself appropriately."

Felix was amused but bored. He wondered what could have happened to cause the gardener to find his balls. He looked over at the beautiful young lady sitting next to Mando and felt his loins stir. He hated accompanying his wife to her sister's. This was time better spent with his mistress and this gorgeous thing reminded Felix of her.

Felix decided to manufacture an emergency and leave right after dessert.

Chita and Tony both looked at the girl and wondered who she was. Mari was stunningly beautiful. She was a ringer for Dayanara Torres, the former Miss Universe, and she was entirely too gorgeous to stand next to Armando. Chita immediately considered the girl **Tony's** future wife.

Tony immediately curved his lips into his most charming smile and approached her. "My apologies, uncle. I did not realize we had company tonight. And you are?"

"Mariela Ruiz," Mari answered, looking at Mando, who was getting her a glass of iced tea. Tony had kissed her hand and Mando rolled his eyes and smiled at her. "You must be Tony."

"I am, and whatever Mando's told you about me is a lie," he said, smiling at her.

"Oh no, so far, he's been absolutely accurate," Mari replied, smiling. She looked over and Mando was laughing silently. Tony was not amused. He had no idea how to respond to that.

"Well, I'm hoping that means he's only said the best, most wonderful things about me." Tony sat in his normal spot, determined to begin chatting Mari up, when Mando returned.

"Get up."

The entire table froze. Tony looked at Mando, amusement clear on his face.

"This is my normal spot, _primo_—"

"Not today. You take my normal spot. Mari is the guest of honor and she's my girlfriend, so I'm sitting next to her. Get up."

"Armando," Chita began, but Pedro had returned at that moment. He took in the seating arrangements and cut in.

"Get up, Tony. Mari is Mando's girlfriend. He'll sit next to her."

Everyone froze in shock, looking to see what would happen. Tony had a mulish look on his face that Mando knew was the prelude to his whining to get his way, so he decided to prevent that.

He lifted Tony, by his shoulders, and removed him bodily from the seat. The entire family watched as Mando dropped Tony onto his ass, dusted his hands, and retook his place next to Mari. Mari's mouth had dropped. Mando handed her the glass of tea she'd asked for and smiled.

"So Papa," Mando said, turning to his father, "how's business?"

* * *

The rest of the evening was awkward. Tony continued to hit on Mari, and Mari could see Mando was growing more and more furious with it but he was trying to hold his temper. Finally, she turned to Tony and smiled.

"You've teased Mando all your life, haven't you?"

"Of course," Tony replied. "He's an easy mark. He's easily upset."

"Yes, I can see why. After all, he brings his girlfriend home, the first woman he's ever brought home to meet his family, and his cousin spends the entire evening trying get into her pants." Multiple gasps. Pedro and Mando both smiled into their coffee cups. Mari was going to get him. "Even though I've given you absolutely no encouragement and have zero interest in you, you still think you have a chance. Tell me, how long does it take for women to lose interest in you?"

Everyone was silent, waiting.

"I don't understand," Tony said slowly, looking for the trick.

"Surprise." Mari sighed dramatically. "That's the difference between you and a sperm. A sperm at least has a one in three million chance to become a decent human."

Mando and Pedro nearly choked on their coffee trying not to laugh. Mari stood and looked at Pedro. "Mr. Cortes, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to prepare for bed."

"Of course," Pedro replied, grinning. "Mando, show Mari where she'll stay."

Mando and Mari left the room. Everyone sat in complete shock and silence. Pedro sipped his coffee and looked forward to the day his son married his girlfriend.

* * *

Tony's first job, out of college, was as a computer programmer. Again, technically proficient but not creative or imaginative. He had no idea how to take a spec and turn it into useable code.

His response? The analysts had submitted a bad spec. By the time he was done forcing them to make all the corrections necessary to turn it into a good spec, the project was late.

The female project lead decided to test him. She had a male analyst write the spec and had a female analyst submit it. Tony started his usual series of complaints and digressions. Meanwhile, another programmer, given the same spec, wrote the code.

The project was completed on time and they had proof Tony had a problem working with women. Tony declared that the code would turn out to be incorrect and, unfortunately, he was correct. There was a major problem in the finished project because a condition had not been tested. The analyst had failed to ask enough questions to learn about it.

The project lead was now on the defensive but she pointed out that she was the only woman involved and her job was to marshal the resources needed to complete the project. Tony's job was to write the code, and if he didn't communicate with her in a timely fashion to let her know that a condition had been left out, then he was at fault for failure to communicate with the project lead. Tony was unable to prove that he had communicated with her, but the rest of the project team was asked to pull **all** their communications about that project.

Tony had certainly complained to everyone else that the project had a problem but he refused to communicate with her.

The company put Tony on a performance plan and he quit in disgust. He wasn't taking the fall for that bitch's inability to run a project right. He worked his contacts and got a job as a project lead at another company. They won a bid to program a job and he ran the project team with an iron fist. His former employers were stunned and wondering if they'd made a mistake in putting _him_ on a performance plan.

Tony ran three more project teams, each more successful than the last, before asking for a raise. He received a slight raise, not enough for him but enough to keep him quiet for a moment. He purchased a Ferrari and a South Beach condo during the boom and finally met a girl he thought he might settle down with for a little while.

Shannon Ortiz was a model, a beauty, and she was ready to retire at the ripe old age of 22. She looked at Tony and was thrilled to finally meet a strong, capable man who was willing to work hard and sacrifice to give her what she wanted. She started thinking marriage and babies and was eager to meet her future mother-in-law.

Chita Delgado hated her.

She looked at this interloper and saw a threat to her control over her son. So she began insinuating that perhaps Tony wasn't ready to be married. Perhaps he should wait a little longer. Tony was amused. He was well aware that his mother saw Shannon as a threat but as long as his cock stayed wet and his mother was out of his hair, he was fine. He had no intentions of marrying anytime soon. He was barely 24. He had plenty of time.

After all, Mari Ruiz was still available. Shannon was beautiful but Mari? Mari put her in the shade, even if she was mouthy. That mouthiness could be corrected, though.

Meanwhile, Mando was off fighting overseas. Mari prayed daily for Mando's safe return and her father-in-law was her biggest comfort. They watched the news and their emails and passed any tidbits that they had to each other. Mari was working as an art dealer in Miami, a competitive market and a competitive field, but she enjoyed it. She and Pedro would meet with her parents on weekends and travel to galleries and exhibitions. Pedro was never much of an art man, but with his daughter by his side he learned.

When Mando was picked to join a special team composed of Army Rangers, he let his future wife and his father know that communication from him was about to be few and far between. Mari became a regular in church and she and Pedro wore down many rosaries praying for him. The day Mando wrote to tell her that he was getting out and that his special teams commander had asked him to join his new company, Mari wept.

He told Mari to pick a date. They were getting married.

* * *

Mando was working 18-20 hour days at RangeMan. It was hard, trying to get the business off the ground and preparing for a wedding. They married on a hot summer day when RangeMan was six months old. The Ruizes had flown in from New York, Puerto Rico, and California to celebrate the nuptials. Mando had worn his dress uniform and Mando's high school, college, and ROTC buddies had made up his half of the wedding party. Mari's art dealer friends and college buddies were her bridesmaids.

Women at the wedding completely ignored Tony Delgado, a first.

The RangeMen were the hottest men in the room and Ranger Mañoso was considered the hottest thing alive. Tony Delgado studied this man and was impressed. He was dressed elegantly, in a custom tux, but with an edge that made him seem dangerous. He moved fluently and gracefully, was polite and proper to everyone and knew how to excite women and detach himself easily. His mother was struck speechless when she was introduced to him and his _tía_ Connie was reduced to a giggling girl. His father was impressed by Mañoso's business acumen and he gained his _tío_ Pedro's respect and admiration by praising Mando's military service.

"One of the finest Marines I ever commanded, Mr. Cortes," Mañoso said, mock grimacing. "You have no idea how much it pains me to compliment a Marine, sir." Pedro laughed, proud of his son. "You'll have to tell me, sir: how did Mando end up falling off the boat so many times?"

Pedro doubled over in laughs and motioned for Mañoso to follow him. Minutes later, everyone looked over to see Ranger Mañoso crying with tears of laughter. Even Mando looked shocked to see his former commander, now his boss, laughing so easily.

Lester Santos was even more exciting to the women in the room. Insanely gorgeous but more approachable than Mañoso, he left with the phone number of every gorgeous woman in the room. Tank LaPierre, Bobby Brown, Mark Phillips, Diego Garcia, the men Mando worked with were handsome, well-built, and charming and they worked the room.

Ranger was able to charm Chita and Connie but he personally had no respect for them. Tank sized both women up quickly. _Bitches_, Tank muttered, and Ranger looked at his second in shock (which meant a barely raised eyebrow). He'd never known Tank to use that term in regards to **any** woman, so using it now, for women they'd barely met, meant that these two were special. After watching the way Connie and Chita disparaged the bride in the most polite terms, Bobby agreed with Tank's assessment. Ranger and Lester watched and realized that Armando Cortes was stronger than they'd ever given him credit for, to survive _that_ mother.

The RangeMen had absolutely no time for Antonio Delgado. Tank's assessment: _spoiled. _They were introduced to him and, beyond a polite head nod, said nothing. They lost respect for him when they realized that Tony tried to make Mando and Mari's wedding day about him. Connie had pitched a fit and demanded that Mando allow Tony to make a speech at his wedding, to deliver the congratulations from the family. Mando told her hell no in no uncertain terms then threatened to remove his cousin from the venue entirely and ban him from his home.

The congratulations from the family were delivered by Ernesto, and Pedro scoured the speech for hidden language and back-handed insults. The speech had been written by Connie, so Pedro replaced it with a speech he and Mando had written. Connie was furious when Ernesto read the speech his father handed him, one full of warm congratulations from the family and containing not a single reference to anyone in the family besides Mando.

* * *

Mando had saved his money carefully for years. Since he'd never bought a car and Mari drove them everywhere, they had a small nest egg. He and Mari made decisions together and they decided to buy a home with their money. Until they were ready, they stayed in a modest apartment, spent time with their families, and talked about their future.

Mando was a steady success at RangeMan. He was a team player, just as he had been in the Middle East, but when put in a leadership position and forced to make decisions, he made good ones. He was firm, fair, and smart. Ranger and Tank watched him carefully, trying to decide if he or Mark would be better to take over the Miami office. Mando didn't discuss work with his family often, but he made the mistake of being overheard one afternoon while talking to his father.

"I don't know if he'll choose me or Mark," Mando said to Pedro. "Ranger likes Mark and Mark worships him. I think I'm probably Tank's choice to head the Miami office."

"Well, that's simple enough," Connie said. They turned to look at her. "If the boss doesn't think you're good enough, you won't get the job. I'm not surprised. Ranger Mañoso looks like the kind of man who rewards excellence. I'm sure you're doing a good job, but if you're the choice of the second, you're the second choice."

Connie turned and left the room. The entire family looked at Mando, who had his blank face in place.

Mari had had enough. "Connie, you have it wrong." Connie walked back in and looked at her daughter-in-law furiously. "Tank is a partner in the business and the partners make decisions jointly. If Tank thinks Mando is the ideal candidate, then Mando has one of the four partners. He needs to impress Bobby and Lester and I'm sure Mando will." She smiled at her husband. "Mando will prove that he deserves to be head of home office."

"I'm sure he'll try," Connie said, a cold smile on her face.

The next week, the assignment was announced. Mari couldn't wait to crow but Mando asked her to allow his father to deliver the news.

"So, Armando, I hear from Mari that you were named the General Manager of RangeMan Miami. Congratulations," Pedro said, smiling. He was thrilled to deliver the news and watched in great delight as his family looked at Mando in shock.

Mando smiled coolly. "Yes, I was. Thank you, papa."

"No, you've earned your position, son. So this means you're the head of home office, right?" Mando nodded. "What about Mark?"

"Mark will take Boston, the new location. He's happy because Boston was his idea."

Pedro nodded. "What's the salary?"

"$125,000."

Forks and mouths dropped. Chita and Felix were stunned but Tony?

"You're a liar," he said, seething. "That's more than I make. There's no way you make more than I do with a history degree."

Mando shrugged and finished his flan. He turned to his father. "Mari and I have found a house, Papa. We'd like you to come look at it." He smiled at Mari and clasped her hand. "We're ready to have a home of our own."

"We'd love to look at it," Connie said. There was no way her son was moving into a home and she didn't inspect it.

Mando looked at his mother. "No thank you, Mother. We'd like an honest, impartial opinion. I'd invite you, but we don't need constant comparisons to Tony's condo." Mando sipped his coffee and stared at his cousin. "By the way, Tony, how's work going?"

Connie felt as if she'd been slapped. _Armando goes out of his way to insult me constantly,_ she seethed, _and Pedro encourages him to do so_. Tony also felt as if he'd been slapped. He'd just been fired that day and he didn't want to talk about it but somehow, looking at Mando's face, he had the feeling Mando knew.

Pedro looked at everyone around his table, at his family and in-laws, and realized that his home was poisoned by his wife and her irritating sister and their preference for his annoying nephew. He'd said nothing for a long time but, looking at his son, at his quiet contentment, he felt the desire to make a statement.

"I've sat here for years and listened as Armando was belittled for nothing more than existing and I'm tired of it. He's tired of it. His wife is tired of it," he said quietly. Everyone looked at him, including Mando and Mari. "Armando is a highly decorated Marine who served his country in one of the most deadly wars of late. He's always been a steady boy, dependable, honorable, and he's gotten no respect at this table.

Well, he's just shown his strength again. His boss, one of this country's most decorated military men, has named him to run the home branch and instead of an outpouring of congratulations and happiness, he gets snide comments and shock. Well, I'm taking a stand. This is the **last** family dinner we have like this. Until this family learns to support all its members, don't show at this dinner table." Pedro ended the statement yelling. He was angrier the more he realized how much it hurt to see his son be belittled.

"Pedro—"

"I've spoken, Connie! This is it!" At this point, Pedro was yelling. He was furious and red and angry. His son deserved some respect.

"Papa, it's not necessary—"

"Yes, it is!" both Mari and Pedro replied. Mando looked at his wife in surprise but she merely nodded.

"Yes, it is necessary _mijo_. Everyone else sits at this table and is praised for their accomplishments but you never are. We have your celebrations separate from the rest of the family. We celebrate your successes quietly. I'm done with that." He looked down the table at his wife. "If you cannot prepare special meals and desserts to celebrate your eldest son, you won't do it to celebrate anyone else in this family. I vow it, Connie."

"Papa!" Josefina cried. "My graduation party—"

"Is off until your mother can compliment and congratulate your brother."

Josefina did not have a graduation party. Individual successes were not celebrated at the Cortes family table until Pedro died.

Nothing would compel Connie to say anything approving to the son she despised.

* * *

Pedro's death caused a lot of bombshells to go off within the family.

The vigil was well attended by many people in Miami and most said just the bare minimum to the widow. They were looking for the eldest son, Armando. He'd been his father's pride and joy and they wanted to express their sorrow and share their memories with him.

Felix looked at his dead brother-in-law and decided to get out while the getting was good. He could have Connie for the asking now but he was no longer interested. She was old and used, well used, by Pedro. _She probably still smells of fertilizer_, he thought_._ Besides, his mistress was tired of him denying her and their daughter and she was pregnant again. She was ready to start making a stink. Felix stepped outside and called his lawyers. He would leave the marital home tonight, while Chita pretended to console her sister.

Chita looked at Pedro and wondered what would happen to Connie. She hoped Pedro had enough life insurance.

Tony looked at his uncle and smirked. One less gardener in Miami. He wouldn't be missed too much.

Josefina looked at her dead Papa and wailed. She didn't want to be left alone with her critical mother under any circumstances.

Mateo and Ernesto wondered what to do with their father's business. It was profitable but neither of them was interested in being a gardener. They hoped Mando made it back in time to deal with all of this.

Bianca wept on her boyfriend's arm. Drew looked at the man he'd hoped to ask for Bianca's hand and wondered what to do now. He liked Pedro Cortes. He'd been a good man, a solid man, and now he was gone. There weren't a lot of men like him.

Bella stood by her father's coffin and hoped to God that Mando made it back in time. She had enough dealing with Connie. Trying to deal with everything else would overwhelm her.

Consuela Cortes stood dry eyed next to the coffin. She tried to remember when she'd last loved Pedro but she couldn't. She couldn't remember ever loving him. He was just a way to make Felix jealous. Getting pregnant with Bella had ruined that and she was stuck with him. He'd loved her, she knew that, but over time he'd fallen out of love with her.

The day he told her he would divorce her for disciplining their children was the last day she even considered loving him.

Only Mariela Cortes Ruiz stood next to the coffin and truly grieved. Her father-in-law had been another father to her. Her baby was due next month, a little girl, and only a week earlier Pedro had stopped by with a little dress for the little girl. It was blue and yellow and had daises on it. It was adorable but, like a man, he'd purchased something way too big for a newborn.

Still, she cherished the last item she'd ever gotten from her father and cried for him. They'd debated baby names and finally agreed on Alyssa. Pedro loved the name. He couldn't tell her why but he liked how it sounded.

There was a hush in the room and she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her. It was Mando, she knew it, and she cried and grieved for both him and Pedro. When she'd finally tired herself, she looked up at him, as his calm face and demeanor, and realized that her husband would break later that night. Right now, he was holding it together for the family, so she needed to be strong for him.

She looked over and saw both Mark Phillips and Ranger Mañoso standing there and she stepped over to them. They both looked a little singed. They'd just gotten back from a mission overseas a week ago, one of the few times Ranger had taken Mark **and** Armando since RangeMan started, but he'd needed their skills. They gave her a big hug and walked her to a seat while Mando conferred with the priest, his mother, and sister.

Ranger smiled. "When is she due?" he whispered.

"Next month. How did you . . . "

"Mando talks of nothing else," Mark said, smiling. "He can't wait to be Daddy."

Mari glanced at her handsome husband, standing to greet those who'd come to pay their respects, then the coffin, and felt the tears well up again. "I know."

* * *

The RangeMan lawyers helped Mando settle his father's estate. The business was profitable but it was a sole proprietorship. They sold the business to one of their father's colleagues and used the profits to pay the business debts first. The money left over, combined with the life insurance, wasn't enough to pay off the two mortgages on the house. Mando wondered why his father, always careful with money, had two mortgages on the house and he soon found out.

Pedro had taken out a HELOC to put his last three children through college. Mando smiled slightly and shook his head. He'd been the only child willing to sacrifice to go through college. His siblings had never considered what it would cost. That was surprising in the case of his brothers but Mari pointed out that while his brothers worked hard, they also liked fine things. They'd always had fine things. Work hard, play hard.

Connie needed a home.

Mando was completely against it. Mari looked at her mother-in-law, prostrate with grief, and wondered how she would go on if Mando died. She couldn't imagine living without him.

Mando looked at his mother and saw a calculated attempt to rouse his pity. She knew Pedro had extracted a deathbed promise from him to take care of her and she knew that Mando would be obedient to his father's wishes, but Mari was a wild card. Mari might refuse to have her in her home and Mando, torn between his wife's wishes and his father's last request, would uphold his wife's wishes. Connie had never been able to manipulate Mariela but the outward show of grief did it. Mari asked Mando to honor his father's last request. Mari loved Pedro and it was the last thing he'd asked of them.

He looked at her, sighed, and kissed her pregnant belly. "You will someday wish you had not asked this of me."

* * *

Tony was furious.

His family was being broken apart by some _puta_ who didn't know how to find an abortion clinic.

Felix had kept his promise to himself. The day of Pedro's funeral, Felix was a no-show. Chita hadn't particularly cared, but when she returned home to find all of Felix's clothes gone, she was curious.

The good-bye note pissed her off. Felix admitted he had another family and his girlfriend, soon to be wife, was demanding that he come support their two children. She was tired of being a dirty secret and he was tired of her, Chita. His new wife was 20 years younger and still young and nubile. Chita was old and tired and Tony was an adult now. He was moving on.

Chita raged and screamed. The divorce was amazingly civil, however. It had to be. Felix had successfully placed most of his assets in his children's names and the girlfriend used that to ensure Felix found his way to _**her**_ home.

Tony looked at his father and spat in his face. "You threw away our face for some _puta_ who couldn't get rid of it? You deserve what you get."

Felix wiped his face and barked a laugh. "You spoiled son of a bitch." He looked at his ex-wife and smirked. "Literally. You've gotten everything you've ever wanted. You're a grown man. Make your way in the world. Quit getting fired."

He turned to Mando, who was watching quietly. "Congratulations, Armando. Your father was right. You've long been the only person in this family with any sense. Don't allow your mother to bully you, and stick close to your wife. She's a smart one."

Felix climbed into his Mercedes and drove away.

* * *

**Years later**

Antonio Delgado's disappearance was investigated as a missing person. His cousin was interviewed and Mando was cool.

Yes, he'd fired him.

It was the fifth time Tony had been fired.

He'd last been seen at a club getting drunk with his friends. Mando had no other information.

The detectives were stunned by how cold Armando Cortes was about his cousin's disappearance. They'd known Mando for years and he wasn't a cold person. That attitude toward Tony actually gave them a chill down their spines.

Miami-Dade PD knew Armando Cortes. He was a straight-shooter, former military, a good guy. He worked his ass off at RangeMan Miami and when Miami-Dade PD needed help, they were comfortable turning to him and his men. The relationship between Miami-Dade PD and RangeMan was close because the Chief of MDPD was an old friend of Pedro Cortes, Armando's father. Chief had known Mando for years.

Chief had also known Antonio Delgado for years. He told the investigating detectives to add angry ex-girlfriends, jealous boyfriends, and infuriated fathers to their list of suspects and _try_ to get a list of Tony's bed partners. It might help them later.

They did some basic interviews and realized that the cousins hated each other. Mando wasn't going to grieve for Tony in the slightest. He'd done his part by employing his asshole cousin and that bit of charity had nearly cost him **his** job.

After speaking to the Acting General Manager and the Managing Director for RangeMan, they understood. Ms. Plum had played the tapes of conversations with former and current clients so the investigating detectives had a good idea of who Antonio Delgado was. The detectives asked for copies of those tapes and, after conferring with the corporate attorneys and obtaining the permission of those on the tapes, copies were made and released to Miami PD.

The detectives quickly realized that if Antonio Delgado was dead no one was mourning.

He was not someone who would be missed by many people.

* * *

His former co-worker, Thomas Williams, was the last person seen with him.

Thomas Williams immediately disappeared shortly after the disappearance of Antonio Delgado, but the Managing Director of RangeMan confirmed she'd approved his vacation well in advance of his disappearance. They checked with the local _policía_ in the Dominican Republic and learned that Thomas had taken R&R with his family because his grandmother's 90th birthday was that weekend. The family had had a big party for her.

The _policía_ in the DR visited him and asked some basic information on behalf of MDPD. Williams used the RangeMan master code to deposit Mr. Delgado in his apartment the night he escorted him from the club. However, Mr. Delgado presumably left of his own accord the next morning, as he used his personal code to disarm and rearm his alarm.

His missing friends had the same pattern of behavior. They all left their apartments within a short period of time of Mr. Delgado and were never heard from again.

The apartments were dusted, but there were multiple sets of fingerprints found besides those of Mr. Williams. That was unexpected. Thomas Williams was expected, because he had deposited each man in his apartment, but who did these other fingerprints belong to?

Fingerprint analysis later turned up scores of women who admitted having been a guest in each man's apartment. Chief was right. They needed to make a list of each man's bed partners.

Miami PD was baffled. When Thomas Williams returned to Miami he was questioned, heavily. His former reputation as a gang member was heavily against him, but it was also known that he was no longer in that life. They knew that. They knew **him**. He'd gone straight. He was no longer involved.

Besides, he readily admitted to putting each man in his apartment. He admitted his fingerprints were there but he'd also locked them up tight in their apartments and not returned after he left them. He'd gone to work the next day, made sure everything was OK for him to take a few days leave, and left. When he learned he was wanted for questioning, he immediately showed up at Miami-Dade PD. He wasn't guilty of kidnapping them from their homes and wasn't confessing to shit.

Miami PD left Thomas Williams alone and started investigating in other directions. They realized that if RangeMan was behind these disappearances, they might as well start trawling the Everglades.

The bodies would never be found.

* * *

Mando knew Thomas had done it and he knew why.

Mack.

It didn't take Mando long to put two and two together. Stephanie planned to place Mack in Diego's position in Miami. Thomas did it for Mack but Mando didn't care.

If Tony had ever been family to him, a real cousin, someone he could respect and admire, he might grieve. They were only a week apart in age, yet Tony had treated him like shit his entire life. He wanted to grieve for him but he couldn't. He couldn't find one pleasant memory of Tony to grieve over and that was sad. Tony had been a user and a taker all his life and now someone had taken his life. Mando was shocked and sadden to realize that he only felt relief.

For the first time in his life, the war was over. Chita and Connie were tearing up Miami and most of Florida looking for Tony. They were frantic. Felix was informed and he hired a private investigator. The private investigator got no further than the cops had.

He attempted to speak to the RangeMen but they said nothing. They had nothing to say. It helped that half the branch was men from other locations. Those men truly had nothing to say.

For the Miami men who remained, Tony entered RangeMan history as an asshole. An irritating piece of shit. Now universally hated within RangeMan, no one missed him. He was a cancer that had finally been excised and it was clear he would never return. The branch bounced back with a vengeance under Diego's leadership, with Mando's guidance from afar. The men were determined to prove that the reputation that they had as sexist assholes was over.

If they didn't get it, the CO would sic her grandma on them again. They were prepared for anything except Granny Mazur and the nude beach.

Chita cried nearly every day and Felix got sick of it. He loved his son, but he wasn't putting Tony up for martyrdom. It was entirely possible that he was pissed at Armando and hiding out somewhere, determined to reappear a bigger success than his cousin. Besides, the boy had been a pain in the ass, one he'd spoiled beyond belief, and he loved and missed his son, but living with his new wife had shown him how he'd wasted almost 30 years in a loveless marriage. He was determined to ensure his daughter, and now a son, in this marriage didn't end up like Tony. He didn't spoil these children the way Tony had been spoiled and they were much better for it.

When Tony reappeared, he'd scold him for making his _mamí_ worry, but he wasn't going to fret over the boy's disappearance quite yet. Besides, Chita was known for being hysterical. When Tony reappeared, a bigger success than Armando, Chita would fall all over the boy, fawning over him. He was determined to balance that ridiculous overreaction.

Connie also cried because now she no longer had her perfect, handsome _sobrino_ to dote on. She looked at her son, at the barely concealed disgust in his eyes, and realized that none of her children actually loved her.

They tolerated her, at best.

Armando had made it clear that Connie would never live under his roof again, so the rest of her children bickered and argued about where she should live. Since Chita got spousal support from Felix, she was covered, but Connie wasn't old enough to collect Social Security. Mando was the child who could afford her easiest, but he refused to give a penny for her maintenance. The rest of her children refused to put themselves into financial straits to care for her.

"That's why Papa wanted you to take care of her," Josefina said mulishly.

"And I did," Mando replied. "I took care of her and you and damn near everyone in this family. All of you are emotional vampires and you aren't sucking me dry anymore. Figure it out."

They spoke of her as if she weren't sitting right there in front of them. Chita had mentally checked out, thinking of her son and wondering where he was. Ernesto and Mateo finally decided that Connie and Chita would have to live together and Connie's children would chip in for her maintenance. Neither woman was happy about that but Ernesto asked her if she had a better idea.

She looked at her children and realized that not one of them would consent to have her under their roofs. Armando and Mariela had never been able to take honest, helpful advice. They saw everything she said as some sort of criticism. Bella was blaming the shaky state of her marriage to that drug dealer on her. She looked at Bianca and Drew, but Drew's blue eyes were cold.

"No. We gave you a place in our home and you couldn't respect us or our home. On behalf of my wife and myself, no."

Drew respected his brother-in-law. Mando walked his sister down the aisle and had given his approval as a proxy for his father. Drew and Mando were pretty close now and he refused to go through the same hell Mando had. Drew had put her out of his home after two weeks and made Bianca promise never to allow her in the house again. He gave Josefina six months to get her life straight and move out. Josefina wailed and he told her that if she didn't stop, she could leave that night.

So Connie agreed to move in with Chita. It was a bitter pill. She never expected that, out of six children, not one of them would take care of her in her old age.

Again, Mando refused to give anything.

"I had her for years and none of you gave me or Mari a penny. You never had time to help Mari. You never had time to babysit the girls or chauffeur _Mamí_. Well, I'll chip in in a decade. Enjoy figuring it out on your own in the meantime."

Everyone understood. They didn't like it, but they understood. Mari smiled and delivered the death stroke.

"We've asked Stephanie to post us to Charlotte permanently. We love it there and we don't want to be involved in the family politics."

Mando looked at his fractured family, broken because of his mother's hatred of him, now bickering over her. He'd never known what he'd done to cause her to hate him so, but he didn't care now. He looked at his wife's taut womb and thought of his son, warm and safe under his mother's heart. A heart that would look at him and love him the moment she saw him and he grieved all over again for his father. He thought of all the decisions he'd made, good and bad, that had brought him to this point and sighed.

He wished, painfully, that his father had lived long enough to know that he'd won the war.

* * *

_Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.—Oscar Wilde_


End file.
